LOU  I S 
COUES 
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EX 

LIBR.IS 


COLLEGIUM 

BOSTON1ENSE 


(Hortteltua  dl.  (Eaitgan 
memorial  (Eollertinn 


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WESTWARD  HO! 


VOL.  I. 


Bideford. 


WESTWARD  HO! 

OR 

THE  VOYAGES  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Sir  AMYAS  LEIGH,  Knight, 

OF  BURROUGH,  IN  THE  COUNTY  OF  DEVON,  IN 
THE  REIGN  OF  HER  MOST  GLORIOUS  MAJESTY 
QUEEN  ELIZABETH 


RENDERED  INTO  MODERN  ENGLISH 


BY 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 

VOL.  I. 


UDitl)  illustrations 


BOSTON 

JOSEPH  KNIGHT  COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


ffl  4-gH-a* 
IaTZ 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  & Co. 
New  York,  U.S.A. 


MASS- 


^34856 


TO 


THE  EAJAH  SIR  JAMES  BROOKE,  K.C.B. 

AND 

GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  SELWYN,  D.D. 

BISHOP  OF  NEW  ZEALAND 

&f)ts  Hook  is  HHtitcateti 

BY  ONE  WHO  (UNKNOWN  TO  THEM)  HAS  NO  OTHER  METHOD  OF  EX- 
PRESSING HIS  ADMIRATION  AND  REVERENCE  FOR  THEIll  CHARACTERS. 

THAT  TYPE  OF  ENGLISH  VIRTUE,  AT  ONCE  MANFUL  AND  GODLY, 
PRACTICAL  AND  ENTHUSIASTIC,  PRUDENT  AND  SELF-SACRIFICING, 
WHICH  HE  HAS  TRIED  TO  DEPICT  IN  THESE  PAGES,  THEY  HAVE 
EXHIBITED  IN  A FORM  EVEN  PURER  AND  MORE  HEROIC  THAN  THAT 
IN  WHICH  HE  HAS  DREST  IT,  AND  THAN  THAT  IN  WHICH  IT  WAS 
EXHIBITED  BY  THE  WORTHIES  WHOM  ELIZABETH,  WITHOUT  DISTINC- 
TION OF  RANK  OR  AGE,  GATHERED  ROUND  HER  IN  THE  EVER 
GLORIOUS  WARS  OF  HER  GREAT  REIGN. 

C.  K. 


February  1855. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  How  Mr.  Oxenham  saw  the  White  Bird  . . 1 

II.  How  Amyas  came  Home  the  First  Time  . . 18 

III.  Of  two  Gentlemen  of  Wales,  and  how  they 
hunted  with  the  Hounds,  and  yet  ran  with 
the  Deer 48 

IY.  The  two  Ways  of  being  crost  in  Love  . . 64 

Y.  Clovelly  Court  in  the  Olden  Time  ...  87 

VI.  The  Coombes  of  the  Far  West  ....  112 

VII.  The  true  and  tragical  History  of  Mr.  John 

Oxenham  of  Plymouth 119 

VIII.  How  the  Noble  Brotherhood  of  the  Rose  was 

founded 158 

IX.  How  Amyas  kept  his  Christmas  Day  . . . 174 

X.  How  the  Mayor  of  Bideford  baited  his  Hook 

with  his  own  Flesh 207 

XI.  How  Eustace  Leigh  met  the  Pope’s  Legate  . 217 

XII.  How  Bideford  Bridge  dined  at  Annery  House  . 233 

XIII.  How  the  Golden  Hind  came  Home  again  . . 258 

XIV.  How  Salvation  Yeo  slew  the  King  of  the 

Gubbings 266 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Bideford Frontispiece 

Bideford  Church 18 

Sir  Philip  Sidney 40 

Appledore 56 

Moorwinstow 74 

Clovelly . 106 

Compton  Castle 120 

Dartmouth 180 

On  the  Torridge,  Bideford  ......  160 

Edmund  Spenser 178 

Sir  Richard  Grenyile 200 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh 222 

Bideford  Bridge 232 

Brent-Tor  268 


Okehampton 


280 


WESTWARD  HO! 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  MR.  OXENHAM  SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD. 

“ The  hollow  oak  our  palace  is, 

Our  heritage  the  sea.  ” 

All  who  have  travelled  through  the  delicious  scenery  of  North 
Devon  must  needs  know  the  little  white  town  of  Bideford, 
which  slopes  upwards  from  its  broad  tide -river  paved  with 
yellow  sands,  and  many-arched  old  bridge  where  salmon  wait 
for  Autumn  floods,  toward  the  pleasant  upland  on  the  west. 
Above  the  town  the  hills  close  in,  cushioned  with  deep  oak 
woods,  through  which  juts  here  and  there  a crag  of  fern-fringed 
slate  ; below  they  lower,  and  open  more  and  more  in  softly- 
rounded  knolls,  and  fertile  squares  of  red  and  green,  till  they 
sink  into  the  wide  expanse  of  hazy  flats,  rich  salt-marshes,  and 
rolling  sand-hills,  where  Torridge  joins  her  sister  Taw,  and 
both  together  flow  quietly  toward  the  broad  surges  of  the  bar, 
and  the  everlasting  thunder  of  the  long  Atlantic  swell.  Plea- 
santly the  old  town  stands  there,  beneath  its  soft  Italian  sky, 
fanned  day  and  night  by  the  fresh  ocean  breeze,  which  forbids 
alike  the  keen  winter  frosts,  and  the  fierce  thunder  heats  of  the 
midland  ; and  pleasantly  it  has  stood  there  for  now,  perhaps, 
eight  hundred  years  since  the  first  Grenvil,  cousin  of  the  Con- 
queror, returning  from  the  conquest  of  South  Wales,  drew  round 
him  trusty  Saxon  serfs,  and  free  Norse  rovers  with  their  golden 
curls,  and  dark  Silurian  Britons  from  the  Swansea  shore,  and 
all  the  mingled  blood  which  still  gives  to  the  seaward  folk  of 
the  next  county  their  strength  and  intellect,  and,  even  in  these 
levelling  days,  their  peculiar  beauty  of  face  and  form. 

But  at  the  time  whereof  I write,  Bideford  was  not  merely 
a pleasant  country  town,  whose  quay  was  haunted  by  a few 
coasting  craft.  It  was  one  of  the  chief  ports  of  England  ; it 
E b 


2 HOW  MK.  OXENHAM  [CHAP.  I. 

furnished  seven  ships  to  fight  the  Armada : even  more  than  a 
century  afterwards,  says  the  chroniclers,  “ it  sent  more  vessels 
to  the  northern  trade  than  any  port  in  England,  saving  (strange 
juxtaposition  !)  London  and  Topsham,”  and  was  the  centre  of 
a local  civilisation  and  enterprise,  small  perhaps  compared  with 
the  vast  efforts  of  the  present  day : but  who  uaie  despise  the 
day  of  small  things,  if  it  has  proved  to  be  the  dawn  of  mighty 
ones  ? And  it  is  to  the  sea -life  and  labour  of  Bideford,  and 
Dartmouth,  and  Topsham,  and  Plymouth  (then  a petty  place), 
and  many  another  little  western  town,  that  England  owes  the 
foundation  of  her  naval  and  commercial  glory.  It  was  the  men 
of  Devon,  the  Drakes  and  Hawkins’,  Gilberts  and  Raleighs, 
Grenviles  and  Oxenhams,  and  a host  more  of  “ forgotten 
worthies,”  whom  we  shall  learn  one  day  to  honour  as  they 
deserve,  to  whom  she  owes  her  commerce,  her  colonies,  her  very 
existence.  For  had  they  not  first  crippled,  by  their  West 
Indian  raids,  the  ill-gotten  resources  of  the  Spaniard,  and  then 
crushed  his  last  huge  effort  in  Britain’s  Salamis,  the  glorious 
fight  of  1588,  what  had  we  been  by  now,  but  a Popish  appan- 
age of  a world-tyranny  as  cruel  as  heathen  Rome  itself,  and  far 
more  devilish  ] 

It  is  in  memory  of  these  men,  their  voyages  and  their 
battles,  their  faith  and  their  valour,  their  heroic  lives  and  no 
less  heroic  deaths,  that  I write  this  book ; and  if  now  and  then 
I shall  seem  to  warm  into  a style  somewhat  too  stilted  and 
pompous,  let  me  be  excused  for  my  subject’s  sake,  fit  rather  to 
have  been  sung  than  said,  and  to  have  proclaimed  to  all  true 
English  hearts,  not  as  a novel  but  as  an  epic  (which  some  man 
may  yet  gird  himself  to  write),  the  same  great  message  which 
the  songs  of  Troy,  and  the  Persian  wars,  and  the  trophies  of 
Marathon  and  Salamis,  spoke  to  the  hearts  of  all  true  Greeks 
of  old. 

One  bright  summer’s  afternoon,  in  the  year  of  grace  1575, 
a tall  and  fair  boy  came  lingering  along  Bideford  quay,  in  his 
scholar’s  gown,  with  satchel  and  slate  in  hand,  watching  wist- 
fully the  shipping  and  the  sailors,  till,  just  after  he  had  passed 
the  bottom  of  the  High  Street,  he  came  opposite  to  one  of  the 
many  taverns  which  looked  out  upon  the  river.  In  the  open 
bay  window  sat  merchants  and  gentlemen,  discoursing  over  their 
afternoon’s  draught  of  sack ; and  outside  the  door  was  gathered 
a group  of  sailors,  listening  earnestly  to  some  one  who  stood  in 
the  midst.  The  boy,  all  alive  for  any  sea-news,  must  needs  go 


SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD. 


3 


CHAP.  I.] 

up  to  them,  and  take  his  place  among  the  sailor-lads  who  were 
peeping  and  whispering  under  the  elbows  of  the  men  ; and  so 
came  in  for  the  following  speech,  delivered  in  a loud  bold  voice, 
with  a strong  Devonshire  accent,  and  a fair  sprinkling  of  oaths. 

“If  you  don’t  believe  me,  go  and  see,  or  stay  here  and  grow 
all  over  blue  mould.  I tell  you,  as  I am  a gentleman,  I saw  it 
with  these  eyes,  and  so  did  Salvation  Yeo  there,  through  a 
window  in  the  lower  room  ; and  we  measured  the  heap,  as  I 
am  a christened  man,  seventy  foot  long,  ten  foot  broad,  and 
twelve  foot  high,  of  silver  bars,  and  each  bar  between  a thirty 
and  forty  pound  weight.  And  says  Captain  Drake  : ‘ There, 
my  lads  of  Devon,  I’ve  brought  you  to  the  mouth  of  the  world’s 
treasure-house,  and  it’s  your  own  fault  now  if  you  don’t  sweep 
it  out  as  empty  as  a stock-fish.’  ” 

“Why  didn’t  you  bring  some  of  they  home,  then,  Mr. 
Oxenham  ?” 

“Why  weren’t  you  there  to  help  to  carry  them?  We 
would  have  brought  ’em  away,  safe  enough,  and  young  Drake 
and  I h.ad  broke  the  door  abroad  already,  but  Captain  Drake 
goes  off  in  a dead  faint  ; and  when  we  came  to  look,  he  had  a 
wound  in  his  leg  you  might  have  laid  three  fingers  in,  and  his 
boots  were  full  of  blood,  and  had  been  for  an  hour  or  more  ; but 
the  heart  of  him  was  that,  that  he  never  knew  it  till  he 
dropped,  and  then  his  brother  and  I got  him  away  to  the  boats, 
he  kicking  and  struggling,  and  bidding  us  let  him  go  on  with 
the  fight,  though  every  step  he  took  in  the  sand  was  in  a pool 
of  blood  ; and  so  we  got  off.  And  tell  me,  ye  sons  of  shotten 
herrings,  wasn’t  it  worth  more  to  save  him  than  the  dirty  silver? 
for  silver  we  can  get  again,  brave  boys  : there’s  more  fish  in 
the  sea  than  ever  came  out  of  it,  and  more  silver  in  Nombre 
de  Dios  than  would  pave  all  the  streets  in  the  west  country  : 
but  of  such  captains  as  Franky  Drake,  Heaven  never  makes  but 
one  at  a time ; and  if  we  lose  him,  good-bye  to  England’s  luck, 
say  I,  and  who  don’t  agree,  let  him  choose  his  weapons,  and 
I’m  his  man.” 

He  who  delivered  this  harangue  was  a tall  and  sturdy  per- 
sonage, with  a florid  black-bearded  face,  and  bold  restless  dark 
eyes,  who  leaned,  with  crossed  legs  and  arms  akimbo,  against 
the  wall  of  the  house;  and  seemed  in  the  eyes  of  the  school-boy 
a very  magnifico,  some  prince  or  duke  at  least.  He  was  dressed 
(contrary  to  all  sumptuary  laws  of  the  time)  in  a suit  of  crimson 
velvet,  a little  the  worse,  perhaps,  for  wear ; by  his  side  were 
a long  Spanish  rapier  and  a brace  of  daggers,  gaudy  enough 


4 


HOW  MR.  OXENHAM 


[CHAF.  I. 

about  the  hilts ; his  fingers  sparkled  with  rings ; he  had  two 
or  three  gold  chains  about  his  neck,  and  large  earrings  in  his 
ears,  behind  one  of  which  a red  rose  was  stuck  jauntily  enough 
among  the  glossy  black  curls ; on  his  head  was  a broad  velvet 
Spanish  hat,  in  which  instead  of  a feather  was  fastened  with  a 
great  gold  clasp  a whole  Quezal  bird,  whose  gorgeous  plumage 
of  fretted  golden  green  shone  like  one  entire  precious  stone. 
As  he  finished  his  speech,  he  took  off  the  said  hat,  and  look- 
ing at  the  bird  in  it — 

“ Look  ye,  my  lads,  did  you  ever  see  such  a fowl  as  that 
before  ? That’s  the  bird  which  the  old  Indian  kings  of  Mexico 
let  no  one  wear  but  their  own  selves ; and  therefore  I wear  it, — 
I,  John  Oxenham  of  South  Tawton,  for  a sign  to  all  brave  lads 
of  Devon,  that  as  the  Spaniards  are  the  masters  of  the  Indians, 
we’re  the  masters  of  the  Spaniards  and  he  replaced  his  hat. 

A murmur  of  applause  followed  : but  one  hinted  that  he 
“ doubted  the  Spaniards  were  too  many  for  them.” 

“ Too  many?  How  many  men  did  we  take  Nombre  de  Dios 
with?  Seventy-three  were  we,  and  no  more  when  we  sailed  out 
of  Plymouth  Sound ; and  before  we  saw  the  Spanish  Main,  half 
were  ‘ gastados,’  used  up,  as  the  Dons  say,  with  the  scurvy  ; and 
in  Port  Pheasant  Captain  Rawse  of  Cowes  fell  in  with  us,  and 
that  gave  us  some  thirty  hands  more ; and  with  that  handful, 
my  lads,  only  fifty-three  in  all,  we  picked  the  lock  of  the  new 
world  ! And  whom  did  we  lose  but  our  trumpeter,  who  stood 
braying  like  an  ass  in  the  middle  of  the  square,  instead  of  taking 
care  of  his  neck  like  a Christian  ? I tell  you,  those  Spaniards 
are  rank  cowards,  as  all  bullies  are.  They  pray  to  a woman, 
the  idolatrous  rascals  ! and  no  wonder  they  fight  like  women.” 

“ You’m  right,  Captain,”  sang  out  a tall  gaunt  fellow  who 
stood  close  to  him  ; “ one  westcountryman  can  fight  two  easter- 
lings,  and  an  easterling  can  beat  three  Dons  any  day.  Eh  ! 
my  lads  of  Devon  ? 

“ For  0 ! it’s  the  herrings  and  the  good  brown  beef, 

And  the  cider  and  the  cream  so  white  ; 

O ! they  are  the  making  of  the  jolly  Devon  lads, 

For  to  play,  and  eke  to  fight.  ” 

“Come,”  said  Oxenham,  “come  along!  Who  lists?  who 
lists?  who’ll  make  his  fortune? 

“ Oh,  who  will  join,  jolly  mariners  all  ? 

And  who  will  join,  says  he,  0 ! 

To  fill  his  pockets  with  the  good  red  goold, 

By  sailing  on  the  sea,  0 ! ” 


CHAP.  I.]  SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD.  5 

“Who’ll  list?”  cried  the  gaunt  man  again;  “now’s  your 
time ! We’ve  got  forty  men  to  Plymouth  now,  ready  to  sail 
the  minute  we  get  back,  and  we  want  a dozen  out  of  you  Bide- 
ford men,  and  just  a boy  or  two,  and  then  we’m  off  and  away, 
and  make  our  fortunes,  or  go  to  heaven. 

“ Our  bodies  in  the  sea  so  deep, 

Our  souls  in  heaven  to  rest ! 

Where  valiant  seamen,  one  and  all, 

Hereafter  shall  be  blest !” 

“ Now,”  said  Oxenham,  “ you  won’t  let  the  Plymouth  men 
say  that  the  Bideford  men  daren’t  follow  them  ? North  Devon 
against  South,  it  is.  Who’ll  join?  who’ll  join?  It  is  but  a 
step  of  a way,  after  all,  and  sailing  as  smooth  as  a duck-pond 
as  soon  as  you’re  past  Cape  Finisterre.  I’ll  run  a Clovelly 
herring-boat  there  and  back  for  a wager  of  twenty  pound,  and 
never  ship  a bucketful  all  the  way.  Who’ll  join  ? Don’t  think 
you’re  buying  a pig  in  a poke.  I know  the  road,  and  Salvation 
Yeo,  here,  too,  who  was  the  gunner’s  mate,  as  well  as  I do  the 
narrow  seas,  and  better.  You  ask  him  to  show  you  the  chart 
of  it,  now,  and  see  if  he  don’t  tell  you  over  the  ruttier  as  well 
as  Drake  himself.” 

On  which  the  gaunt  man  pulled  from  under  h\s  arm  a great 
white  buffalo  horn  covered  with  rough  etchings  of  land  and  sea, 
and  held  it  up  to  the  admiring  ring. 

“ See  here,  boys  all,  and  behold  the  pictur  of  the  place, 
dra’ed  out  so  natural  as  ever  was  life.  I got  mun  from  a Por- 
tugal, down  to  the  Azores ; and  he’d  pricked  mun  out,  and 
pricked  mun  out,  wheresoever  he’d  sailed,  and  whatsoever  he’d 
seen.  Take  mun  in  your  hands  now,  Simon  Evans,  take  mun 
in  your  hands;  look  mun  over,  and  I’ll  warrant  you’ll  know 
the  way  in  five  minutes  so  well  as  ever  a shark  in  the  seas.” 

And  the  horn  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand ; while  Oxen- 
ham, who  saw  that  his  hearers  were  becoming  moved,  called 
through  the  open  window  for  a great  tankard  of  sack,  and 
passed  that  from  hand  to  hand,  after  the  horn. 

The  school-boy,  who  had  been  devouring  with  eyes  and  ears 
all  which  passed,  and  had  contrived  by  this  time  to  edge  him- 
self into  the  inner  ring,  now  stood  face  to  face  with  the  hero  of 
the  emerald  crest,  and  got  as  many  peeps  as  he  could  at  the 
wonder.  But  when  he  saw  the  sailors,  one  after  another,  hav- 
ing turned  it  over  a while,  come  forward  and  offer  to  join  Mr. 
Oxenham,  his  soul  burned  within  him  for  a nearer  view  of  that 
wondrous  horn,  as  magical  in  its  effects  as  that  of  Tristrem,  oi 


6 


HOW  MR.  OXENHAM 


[CHAP.  I. 


the  enchanter’s  in  Ariosto ; and  when  the  group  had  somewhat 
broken  up,  and  Oxenham  was  going  into  the  tavern  with  his 
recruits,  he  asked  boldly  for  a nearer  sight  of  the  marvel,  which 
was  granted  at  once. 

And  now  to  his  astonished  gaze  displayed  themselves  cities 
and  harbours,  dragons  and  elephants,  whales  which  fought  with 
sharks,  plate  ships  of  Spain,  islands  with  apes  and  palm-trees, 
each  with  its  name  over- written,  and  here  and  there,  “ Here  is 
gold and  again,  “ Much  gold  and  silver inserted  most 
probably,  as  the  words  were  in  English,  by  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Oxenham  himself.  Lingeringly  and  longingly  the  boy  turned 
it  round  and  round,  and  thought  the  owner  of  it  more  fortunate 
than  Khan  or  Kaiser.  Oh,  if  he  could  but  possess  that  horn, 
what  needed  he  on  earth  beside  to  make  him  blest  ! 

“ I say,  will  you  sell  this  ?” 

“ Yea,  marry,  or  my  own  soul,  if  I can  get  the  worth  of  it.” 

“ I want  the  horn, — I don’t  want  your  soul ; it’s  somewhat 
of  a stale  sole,  for  aught  I know ; and  there  are  plenty  of  fresh 
ones  in  the  bay.” 

And  therewith,  after  much  fumbling,  he  pulled  out  a tester 
(the  only  one  he  had),  and  asked  if  that  would  buy  it  1 

“ That ! no,  nor  twenty  of  them.” 

The  boy  thought  over  what  a good  knight-errant  would  do 
in  such  case,  and  then  answered,  “ Tell  you  what : I’ll  fight 
you  for  it.” 

“ Thank’ee,  sir !” 

“ Break  the  jackanapes’s  head  for  him,  Yeo,”  said  Oxenham. 

“ Call  me  jackanapes  again,  and  I break  yours,  sir.”  And 
the  boy  lifted  his  fist  fiercely. 

Oxenham  looked  at  him  a minute  smilingly.  “ Tut ! tut ! 
my  man,  hit  one  of  your  own  size,  if  you  will,  and  spare  little 
folk  like  me  ! ” 

“ If  I have  a boy’s  age,  sir,  I have  a man’s  fist.  I shall  be 
fifteen  years  old  this  month,  and  know  how  to  answer  any  one 
who  insults  me.” 

“ Fifteen,  my  young  cockerel  ? you  look  liker  twenty,”  said 
Oxenham,  with  an  admiring  glance  at  the  lad’s  broad  limbs, 
keen  blue  eyes,  curling  golden  locks,  and  round  honest  face. 
“Fifteen?  If  I had  half-a-dozen  such  lads  as  you,  I would 
make  knights  of  them  before  I died.  Eh,  Yeo  ?” 

“ He’ll  do,”  said  Yeo ; “ he  will  make  a brave  gamecock  in 
a year  or  two,  if  he  dares  ruffle  up  so  early  at  a tough  old  hen- 
master  like  the  Captain.” 


CHAP,  i.]  SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD.  7 

At  which  there  was  a general  laugh,  in  which  Oxenham 
joined  as  loudly  as  any,  and  then  bade  the  lad  tell  him  why  he 
was  so  keen  after  the  horn. 

“ Because,”  said  he,  looking  up  boldly,  “ I want  to  go  to  sea. 
I want  to  see  the  Indies.  I want  to  fight  the  Spaniards. 
Though  I am  a gentleman’s  son,  I’d  a deal  liever  be  a cabin- 
boy  on  board  your  ship.”  And  the  lad,  having  hurried  out  his 
say  fiercely  enough,  dropped  his  head  again. 

“ And  you  shall,”  cried  Oxenham,  with  a great  oath ; “ and 
take  a galloon,  and  dine  off  carbonadoed  Dons.  Whose  son 
are  you,  my  gallant  fellow  ?” 

“ Mr.  Leigh’s,  of  Burrough  Court.” 

“ Bless  his  soul ! I know  him  as  well  as  I do  the  Eddystone, 
and  his  kitchen  too.  Who  sups  with  him  to-night?” 

“ Sir  Richard  Grenvil.” 

“Dick  Grenvil?  I did  not  know  he  was  in  town.  Go 
home  and  tell  your  father  John  Oxenham  will  come  and  keep 
him  company.  There,  off  with  you ! I’ll  make  all  straight 
with  the  good  gentleman,  and  you  shall  have  your  venture 
with  me ; and  as  for  the  horn,  let  him  have  the  horn,  Yeo, 
and  I’ll  give  you  a noble  for  it.” 

“Not  a penny,  noble  Captain.  If  young  master  will  take 
a poor  mariner’s  gift,  there  it  is,  for  the  sake  of  his  love  to  the 
calling,  and  Heaven  send  him  luck  therein.”  And  the  good 
fellow,  with  the  impulsive  generosity  of  a true  sailor,  thrust  the 
horn  into  the  boy’s  hands,  and  walked  away  to  escape  thanks. 

“And  now,”  quoth  Oxenham,  “my  merry  men  all,  make 
up  your  minds  what  mannered  men  you  be  minded  to  be  before 
you  take  your  bounties.  I want  none  of  your  rascally  lurching 
longshore  vermin,  who  get  five  pounds  out  of  this  captain,  and 
ten  out  of  that,  and  let  him  sail  without  them  after  all,  while 
they  are  stowed  away  under  women’s  mufflers,  and  in  tavern 
cellars.  If  any  man  is  of  that  humour,  he  had  better  to  cut 
himself  up,  and  salt  himself  down  in  a barrel  for  pork,  before 
he  meets  me  again  ; for  by  this  light,  let  me  catch  him,  be  it 
seven  years  hence,  and  if  I do  not  cut  his  throat  upon  the 
streets,  it’s  a pity ! But  if  any  man  will  be  true  brother  to 
me,  true  brother  to  him  I’ll  be,  come  wreck  or  prize,  storm  or 
calm,  salt  water  or  fresh,  victuals  or  none,  share  and  fare  alike ; 
and  here’s  my  hand  upon  it,  for  every  man  and  all ! and  so — 

“ Westward  ho  ! with  a rumbelow, 

And  hurra  for  the  Spanish  Main,  0 ! ” 

After  which  oration  Mr.  Oxenham  swaggered  into  the 


8 


HOW  MR.  OXEN  HAM 


[CHAP.  I. 

tavern,  followed  by  his  new  men ; and  the  boy  took  his  way 
homewards,  nursing  his  precious  horn,  trembling  between  hope 
and  fear,  and  blushing  with  maidenly  shame,  and  a half-sense 
of  wrong-doing  at  having  revealed  suddenly  to  a stranger  the 
darling  wish  which  he  had  hidden  from  his  father  and  mother 
ever  since  he  was  ten  years  old. 

Now  this  young  gentleman,  Amyas  Leigh,  though  come  of 
as  good  blood  as  any  in  Devon,  and  having  lived  all  his  life  in 
what  we  should  even  now  call  the  very  best  society,  and  being 
(on  account  of  the  valour,  courtesy,  and  truly  noble  qualities 
which  he  showed  forth  in  his  most  eventful  life)  chosen  by  me 
as  the  hero  and  centre  of  this  story,  was  not,  saving  for  his 
good  looks,  by  any  means  what  would  be  called  now-a-days  an 
“interesting”  youth,  still  less  a “ highly-educated  ” one ; for, 
with  the  exception  of  a little  Latin,  which  had  been  driven 
into  him  by  repeated  blows,  as  if  it  had  been  a nail,  he  knew 
no  books  whatsoever,  save  his  Bible,  his  Prayer-book,  the  old 
“ Mort  d’ Arthur  ” of  Caxton’s  edition,  which  lay  in  the  great 
bay  window  in  the  hall,  and  the  translation  of  “ Las  Casas’ 
History  of  the  West  Indies,”  which  lay  beside  it,  lately  done 
into  English  under  the  title  of  “ The  Cruelties  of  the  Spaniards.” 
He  devoutly  believed  in  fairies,  whom  he  called  pixies  ; and 
held  that  they  changed  babies,  and  made  the  mushroom  rings 
on  the  downs  to  dance  in.  When  he  had  warts  or  burns,  he 
went  to  the  white  witch  at  Northam  to  charm  them  away ; he 
thought  that  the  sun  moved  round  the  earth,  and  that  the  moon 
had  some  kindred  with  a Cheshire  cheese.  He  held  that  the 
swallows  slept  all  the  winter  at  the  bottom  of  the  horse-pond  ; 
talked,  like  Raleigh,  Grenvil,  and  other  low  persons,  with  a 
broad  Devonshire  accent ; and  was  in  many  other  respects  so 
very  igporant  a youth,  that  any  pert  monitor  in  a national 
school  might  have  had  a hearty  laugh  at  him.  Nevertheless, 
this  ignorant  young  savage,  “ vacant  of  the  glorious  gains  ” of 
the  nineteenth  century,  children’s  literature  and  science  made 
easy,  and,  worst  of  all,  of  those  improved  views  of  English  his- 
tory now  current  among  our  railway  essayists,  which  consist  in 
believing  all  persons,  male  and  female,  before  the  year  1688, 
and  nearly  all  after  it,  to  have  been  either  hypocrites  or  fools, 
had  learnt  certain  things  which  he  would  hardly  have  been 
taught  just  now  in  any  school  in  England ; for  his  training  had 
been  that  of  the  old  Persians,  “to  speak  the  truth  and  to  draw 
the  bow,”  both  of  which  savage  virtues  he  had  acquired  to 
perfection,  as  well  as  the  equally  savage  ones  of  enduring  pain 


CHAP,  i.]  SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD.  9 

cheerfully,  and  of  believing  it  to  be  the  finest  thing  in  the  world 
to  be  a gentleman  ; by  which  word  he  had  been  taught  to  under- 
stand the  careful  habit  of  causing  needless  pain  to  no  human 
being,  poor  or  rich,  and  of  taking  pride  in  giving  up  his  own 
pleasure  for  the  sake  of  those  who  were  weaker  than  himself. 
Moreover,  having  been  entrusted  for  the  last  year  with  the 
breaking  of  a colt,  and  the  care  of  a cast  of  young  hawks  which 
his  father  had  received  from  Lundy  Isle,  he  had  been  profiting 
much,  by  the  means  of  those  coarse  and  frivolous  amusements, 
in  perseverance,  thoughtfulness,  and  the  habit  of  keeping  his 
temper ; and  though  he  had  never  had  a single  “object  lesson,” 
or  been  taught  to  “ use  his  intellectual  powers,”  he  knew  the 
names  and  ways  of  every  bird,  and  fish,  and  fly,  and  could  read, 
as  cunningly  as  the  oldest  sailor,  the  meaning  of  every  drift  of 
cloud  which  crossed  the  heavens.  Lastly,  he  had  been  for  some 
time  past,  on  account  of  his  extraordinary  size  and  strength,  un- 
disputed cock  of  the  school,  and  the  most  terrible  fighter  among 
all  Bideford  boys ; in  which  brutal  habit  he  took  much  delight, 
and  contrived,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  to  extract  from  it  good, 
not  only  for  himself  but  for  others,  doing  justice  among  his 
school-fellows  with  a heavy  hand,  and  succouring  the  oppressed 
and  afflicted ; so  that  he  was  the  terror  of  all  the  sailor-lads,  and 
the  pride  and  stay  of  all  the  town’s  boys  and  girls,  and  hardly  con- 
sidered that  he  had  done  his  duty  in  his  calling  if  he  went  home 
without  beating  a big  lad  for  bullying  a little  one.  For  the  rest, 
he  never  thought  about  thinking,  or  felt  about  feeling;  and  had 
no  ambition  whatsoever  beyond  pleasing  his  father  and  mother, 
getting  by  honest  means  the  maximum  of  “ red  quarrenders  ” 
and  mazard  cherries,  and  going  to  sea  when  he  was  big  enough. 
Neither  was  he  what  would  be  now-a-days  called  by  many  a 
pious  child ; for  though  he  said  his  Creed  and  Lord’s  Prayer 
night  and  morning,  and  went  to  the  service  at  the  church  every 
forenoon,  and  read  the  day’s  Psalms  with  his  mother  every 
evening,  and  had  learnt  from  her  and  from  his  father  (as  he 
proved  well  in  after  life)  that  it  was  infinitely  noble  to  do  right 
and  infinitely  base  to  do  wrong,  yet  (the  age  of  children’s  re- 
ligious books  not  having  yet  dawned  on  the  world)  he  knew 
nothing  more  of  theology,  or  of  his  own  soul,  than  is  contained 
in  the  Church  Catechism.  It  is  a question,  however,  on  the 
whole,  whether,  though  grossly  ignorant  (according  to  our 
modern  notions)  in  science  and  religion,  he  was  altogether 
untrained  in  manhood,  virtue,  and  godliness ; and  whether  the 
barbaric  narrowness  of  his  Information  was  not  somewhat 


10 


HOW  MR.  OXENHAM 


[chap.  I. 


counterbalanced  both  in  him  and  in  the  rest  of  his  generation 
by  the  depth,  and  breadth,  and  healthiness  of  his  Education. 

So  let  us  watch  him  up  the  hill  as  he  goes  hugging  his 
horn,  to  tell  all  that  has  passed  to  his  mother,  from  whom  he 
had  never  hidden  anything  in  his  life,  save  only  that  sea-fever ; 
and  that  only  because  he  foreknew  that  it  would  give  her  pain ; 
and  because,  moreover,  being  a prudent  and  sensible  lad,  he 
knew  that  he  was  not  yet  old  enough  to  go,  and  that,  as  he 
expressed  it  to  her  that  afternoon,  “ there  was  no  use  hollaing 
till  he  was  out  of  the  wood.” 

So  he  goes  up  between  the  rich  lane -banks,  heavy  with 
drooping  ferns  and  honeysuckle ; out  upon  the  windy  down 
toward  the  old  Court,  nestled  amid  its  ring  of  wind-clipt  oaks  ; 
through  the  grey  gateway  into  the  homeclose ; and  then  he 
pauses  a moment  to  look  around ; first  at  the  wide  bay  to  the 
westward,  with  its  southern  wall  of  purple  cliffs ; then  at  the 
dim  Isle  of  Lundy  far  away  at  sea ; then  at  the  cliffs  and 
downs  of  Morte  and  Braunton,  right  in  front  of  him  ; then  at 
the  vast  yellow  sheet  of  rolling  sand-hill,  and  green  alluvial 
plain  dotted  with  red  cattle,  at  his  feet,  through  which  the 
silver  estuary  winds  onward  toward  the  sea.  Beneath  him,  on 
his  right,  the  Torridge,  like  a land-locked  lake,  sleeps  broad  and 
bright  between  the  old  park  of  Tapeley  and  the  charmed  rock 
of  the  Hubbastone,  where,  seven  hundred  years  ago,  the  Norse 
rovers  landed  to  lay  siege  to  Kenwith  Castle,  a mile  away  on  his 
left  hand;  and  not  three  fields  away,  are  the  old  stones  of  “ The 
Bloody  Corner,”  where  the  retreating  Danes,  cut  off  from  their 
ships,  made  their  last  fruitless  stand  against  the  Saxon  sheriff 
and  the  valiant  men  of  Devon.  Within  that  charmed  rock,  so 
Torridge  boatmen  tell,  sleeps  now  the  old  Norse  Viking  in  his 
leaden  coffin,  with  all  his  fairy  treasure  and  his  crown  of  gold ; 
and  as  the  boy  looks  at  the  spot,  he  fancies,  and  almost  hopes, 
that  the  day  may  come  when  he  shall  have  to  do  his  duty 
against  the  invader  as  boldly  as  the  men  of  Devon  did  then. 
And  past  him,  far  below,  upon  the  soft  south-eastern  breeze,  the 
stately  ships  go  sliding  out  to  sea.  When  shall  he  sail  in  them, 
and  see  the  wonders  of  the  deep  ? And  as  he  stands  there  with 
beating  heart  and  kindling  eye,  the  cool  breeze  whistling 
through  his  long  fair  curls,  he  is  a symbol,  though  he  knows  it 
not,  of  brave  young  England  longing  to  wing  its  way  out  of  its 
island  prison,  to  discover  and  to  traffic,  to  colonise  and  to 
civilise,  until  no  wind  can  sweep  the  earth  which  does  not  bear 
the  echoes  of  an  English  voice.  Patience,  young  Amyas ! 


SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD. 


11 


CHAP.  I.] 

Thou  too  shalt  forth,  and  westward  ho,  beyond  thy  wildest 
dreams ; and  see  brave  sights,  and  do  brave  deeds,  which  no 
man  has  since  the  foundation  of  the  world.  Thou  too  shalt 
face  invaders  stronger  and  more  cruel  far  than  Dane  or  Norman, 
and  bear  thy  part  in  that  great  Titan  strife  before  the  renown 
of  which  the  name  of  Salamis  shall  fade  away  ! 

Mr.  Oxenham.  came  that  evening  to  supper  as  he  had  pro- 
mised : but  as  people  supped  in  those  days  in  much  the  same 
manner  as  they  do  now,  we  may  drop  the  thread  of  the  story  for 
a few  hours,  and  take  it  up  again  after  supper  is  over. 

“ Come  now,  Dick  Grenvil,  do  thou  talk  the  good  man 
round,  and  I’ll  warrant  myself  to  talk  round  the  good  wife.”  t 

The  personage  whom  Oxenham  addressed  thus  familiarly 
answered  by  a somewhat  sarcastic  smile,  and,  “ Mr.  Oxenham  - 
gives  Dick  Grenvil”  (with  just  enough  emphasis  on  the  “ Mr.” 
and  the  “Dick,”  to  hint  that  a liberty  had  been  taken  with 
him)  “ overmuch  credit  with  the  men.  Mr.  Oxenliam’s  credit 
with  fair  ladies,  none  can  doubt.  Friend  Leigh,  is  Heard’s 
great  ship  home  yet  from  the  Straits  V3 

The  speaker,  known  well  in  those  days  as  Sir  Richard 
Grenvile,  Granville,  Greenvil,  Greenfield,  with  two  or  three 
other  variations,  was  one  of  those  truly  heroical  personages 
whom  Providence,  fitting  always  the  men  to  their  age  and  their 
work,  had  sent  upon  the  earth  whereof  it  takes  right  good  care, 
not  iu  England  only,  but  in  Spain  and  Italy,  m Germany  and 
the  Netherlands,  and  wherever,  in  short,  great  men  and  great 
deeds  were  needed  to  lift  the  mediaeval  world  into  the  modern. 

And,  among  all  the  heroic  faces  which  the  painters  of  that 
age  have  preserved,  none,  perhaps,  hardly  excepting  Shaks- 
peare’s  or  Spenser’s,  Alva’s  or  Parma’s,  is  more  heroic  than  that 
of  Richard  Grenvil,  as  it  stands  in  Prince’s  “ Worthies  of 
Devon of  a Spanish  type,  perhaps  (or  more  truly  speaking,  a 
Cornish),  rather  than  an  English,  with  just  enough  of  the 
British  element  in  it  to  give  delicacy  to  it^  massiveness.  The 
forehead  and  whole  brain  are  of  extraordinary  loftiness,  and 
perfectly  upright ; the  nose  long,  aquiline,  and  delicately 
pointed ; the  mouth  fringed  with  a short  silky  beard,  small  and 
ripe,  yet  firm  as  granite,  with  just  pout  enough  of  the  lower 
lip  to  give  hint  of  that  capacity  of  noble  indignation  which  lay 
hid  under  its  usual  courtly  calm  and  sweetness ; if  there  be  a 
defect  in  the  face,  it  is  that  the  eyes  are  somewhat  small,  and 
close  together,  and  the  eyebrows,  though  delicately  arched,  and, 
without  a trace  of  peevishness,  too  closely  pressed  down  upon 


12 


HOW  MR.  OXENHAM 


[CHAP.  i. 


them,  the  complexion  is  dark,  the  figure  tall  and  graceful ; 
altogether  the  likeness  of  a wise  and  gallant  gentleman,  lovely 
to  all  good  men,  awful  to  all  bad  men  ; in  whose  presence  none 
dare  say  or  do  a mean  or  a ribald  thing;  whom  brave  men  left, 
feeling  themselves  nerved  to  do  their  duty  better,  while  cowards 
slipped  away,  as  bats  and  owls  before  the  sun.  So  he  lived  and 
moved,  whether  in  the  Court  of  Elizabeth,  giving  his  counsel 
among  the  wisest ; or  in  the  streets  of  Bideford,  capped  alike 
by  squire  and  merchant,  shopkeeper  and  sailor  ; or  riding  along 
the  moorland  roads  between  his  houses  of  Stow  and  Bideford, 
while  every  woman  ran  out  to  her  door  to  look  at  the  great  Sir 
Bichard,  the  pride  of  North  Devon  ; or,  sitting  there  in  the  low 
mullioned  window  at  Burrough,  with  his  cup  of  malmsey  before 
him,  and  the  lute  to  which  he  had  just  been  singing  laid  across 
his  knees,  while  the  red  western  sun  streamed  in  upon  his 
high,  bland  forehead,  and  soft  curling  locks ; ever  the  same 
steadfast,  God-fearing,  chivalrous  man,  conscious  (as  far  as  a 
soul  so  healthy  could  be  conscious)  of  the  pride  of  beauty,  and 
strength,  and  valour,  and  wisdom,  and  a race  and  name  which 
claimed  direct  descent  from  the  grandfather  of  the  Conqueror, 
and  was  tracked  down  the  centuries  by  valiant  deeds  and  noble 
benefits  to  his  native  shire,  himself  the  noblest  of  his  race. 
Men  said  that  he  was  proud : but  he  could  not  look  round  him 
without  having  something  to  be  proud  of ; that  he  was  stern 
and  harsh  to  his  sailors : but  it  was  only  when  he  saw  in  them 
any  taint  of  cowardice  or  falsehood ; that  he  was  subject,  at 
moments,  to  such  fearful  fits  of  rage,  that  he  had  been  seen  to 
snatch  the  glasses  from  the  table,  grind  them  to  pieces  in  his 
teeth,  and  swallow  them  : but  that  was  only  when  his  indigna- 
tion had  been  aroused  by  some  tale  of  cruelty  or  oppression ; 
and,  above  all,  by  those  West  Indian  devilries  of  the  Spaniards, 
whom  he  regarded  (and  in  those  days  rightly  enough)  as  the 
enemies  of  God  and  man.  Of  this  last  fact  Oxenham  was  well 
aware,  and  therefore  felt  somewhat  puzzled  and  nettled,  when, 
after  having  asked  Mr.  Leigh’s  leave  to  take  young  Amyas 
with  him,  and  set  forth  in  glowing  colours  the  purpose  of  his 
voyage,  he  found  Sir  Richard  utterly  unwilling  to  help  him  with 
his  suit. 

“ Heyday,  Sir  Richard  ! You  are  not  surely  gone  over  to 
the  side  of  those  canting  fellows  (Spanish  Jesuits  in  disguise, 
every  one  of  them,  they  are),  who  pretended  to  turn  up  their 
noses  at  Franky  Drake  as  a pirate,  and  be  hanged  to  them  1” 

“ My  friend  Oxenham,”  answered  he,  in  the  sententious  and 


SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD. 


13 


CHAP.  I.] 


measured  style  of  the  clay,  “ I have  always  held,  as  you  should 
know  by  this,  that  Mr.  Drake’s  booty,  as  well  as  my  good 
friend  Captain  Hawkins’s,  is  lawful  prize,  as  being  taken  from  the 
Spaniard,  who  is  not  only  ‘ hostis  humani  generis,’  but  has  no 
right  to  the  same,  having  robbed  it  violently,  by  torture  and 
extreme  iniquity,  from  the  poor  Indian,  whom  God  avenge,  as 
He  surely  will.” 

“ Amen,”  said  Mrs.  Leigh. 

“ I say  Amen  too,”  quoth  Oxenham,  “ especially  if  it  please 
Him  to  avenge  them  by  English  hands.” 

“And  I also,”  went  on  Sir  Richard;  “for  the  rightful 
owners  of  the  said  goods  being  either  miserably  dead,  or  incap- 
able by  reason  of  their  servitude,  of  ever  recovering  any  share 
thereof,  the  treasure,  falsely  called  Spanish,  cannot  be  better 
betowed  than  in  building  up  the  state  of  England  against  them, 
our  natural  enemies ; and  thereby,  in  building  up  the  weal  of 
the  Reformed  Churches  throughout  the  world,  and  the  liberties 
of  all  nations,  against  a tyranny  more  foul  and  rapacious  than 
that  of  Hero  or  Caligula  ; which,  if  it  be  not  the  cause  of  God, 
I,  for  one,  know  not  what  God’s  cause  is ! ” And,  as  he 
warmed  in  his  speech,  his  eyes  flashed  very  fire. 

“ Hark  now  ! ” said  Oxenham,  “ who  can  speak  more  boldly 
than  he  ? and  yet  he  will  not  help  this  lad  to  so  noble  an 
adventure.” 

“ You  have  asked  his  father  and  mother ; what  is  their 
answer  ? ” 

“ Mine  is  this,”  said  Mr.  Leigh  ; “ if  it  be  God’s  will  that 
my  boy  should  become,  hereafter,  such  a mariner  as  Sir  Richard 
Grenvil,  let  him  go,  and  God  be  with  him  ; but  let  him  first 
bide  here  at  home  and  be  trained,  if  God  give  me  grace,  to 
become  such  a gentleman  as  Sir  Richard  Grenvil.” 

Sir  Richard  bowed  low,  and  Mrs.  Leigh  catching  up  the 
last  word — 

“ There,  Mr.  Oxenham,  you  cannot  gainsay  that,  unless  you 
will  be  discourteous  to  his  worship.  And  for  me — though  it 
be  a weak  woman’s  reason,  yet  it  is  a mother’s  : he  is  my  only 
child.  His  elder  brother  is  far  away.  God  only  knows 
whether  I shall  see  him  again ; and  what  are  all  reports  of  his 
virtues  and  his  learning  to  me,  compared  to  that  sweet  presence 
which  I daily  miss  ? Ah  ! Mr.  Oxenham,  my  beautiful  Joseph 
is  gone  ; and  though  he  be  lord  of  Pharaoh’s  household,  yet  he  is 
far  away  in  Egypt ; and  you  will  take  Benjamin  also  ! Ah  ! Mr. 
Oxenham,  you  have  no  child,  or  you  would  not  ask  for  mine  ! ” 


14 


HOW  MR.  OXENHAM 


[CHAP.  I. 

“ And  how  do  you  know  that,  my  sweet  Madam  ? ” said  the 
adventurer,  turning  first  deadly  pale,  and  then  glowing  red. 
Her  last  words  had  touched  him  to  the  quick  in  some  unexpected 
place ; and  rising,  he  courteously  laid  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and 
said — “ I say  no  more.  Farewell,  sweet  Madam,  and  God  send 
all  men  such  wives  as  you.” 

“And  all  wives,”  said  she,  smiling,  “such  husbands  as 
mine.” 

“ Nay,  I will  not  say  that,”  answered  he,  with  a half  sneer 
— and  then,  “ Farewell,  friend  Leigh — farewell,  gallant  Dick 
Grenvil.  God  send  I see  thee  Lord  High  Admiral  when  I come 
home.  And  yet,  why  should  I come  home?  Will  you  pray  for 
poor  Jack,  gentles  ? ” 

“ Tut,  tut,  man  ! good  words,”  said  Leigh ; “ let  us  drink 
to  our  merry  meeting  before  you  go.”  And  rising,  and  putting 
the  tankard  of  malmsey  to  his  lips,  he  passed  it  to  Sir  Richard, 
who  rose,  and  saying,  “ To  the  fortune  of  a bold  mariner  and  a 
gallant  gentleman,”  drank,  and  put  the  cup  into  Oxenham’s 
hand. 

The  adventurer’s  face  was  flushed,  and  his  eye  wild. 
Whether  from  the  liquor  he  had  drunk  during  the  day,  or 
whether  from  Mrs.  Leigh’s  last  speech,  he  had  not  been  himself 
for  a few  minutes.  He  lifted  the  cup,  and  was  in  act  to  pledge 
them,  when  he  suddenly  dropped  it  on  the  table,  and  pointed, 
staring  and  trembling,  up  and  down,  and  round  the  room,  as  if 
following  some  fluttering  object. 

“ There  ! Do  you  see  it  ? The  bird  ! — the  bird  with  the 
white  breast ! ” 

Each  looked  at  the  other ; but  Leigh,  who  was  a quick- 
witted man,  and  an  old  courtier,  forced  a laugh  instantly,  and 
cried — 

“ Nonsense,  brave  Jack  Oxenham  ! Leave  white  birds  for 
men  who  will  show  the  white  feather.  Mrs.  Leigh  waits  to 
pledge  you.” 

Oxenham  recovered  himself  in  a moment,  pledged  them  all 
round,  drinking  deep  and  fiercely;  and  after  hearty  farewells, 
departed,  never  hinting  again  at  his  strange  exclamation. 

After  he  was  gone,  and  while  Leigh  was  attending  him  to 
the  door,  Mrs.  Leigh  and  Grenvil  kept  a few  minutes’  dead 
silence.  At  last — 

“ God  help  him  ! ” said  she. 

“ Amen  ! ” said  Grenvil,  “ for  he  never  needed  it  more.  But, 
indeed,  Madam,  I put  no  faith  in  such  omens.” 


CHAP.  I.]  SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD.  15 

“ But,  Sir  Richard,  that  bird  has  been  seen  for  generations 
before  the  death  of  any  of  his  family.  I know  those  who  were 
at  South  Tawton  when  his  mother  died,  and  his  brother  also ; 
and  they  both  saw  it.  God  help  him  ! for,  after  all,  he  is  a 
proper  man.” 

“ So  many  a lady  has  thought  before  now,  Mrs.  Leigh,  and 
well  for  him  if  they  had  not.  But,  indeed,  I make  no  account 
of  omens.  When  God  is  ready  for  each  man,  then  he  must  go  ; 
and  when  can  he  go  better  ? ” 

“ But,”  said  Mr.  Leigh,  who  entered,  “ I have  seen,  and 
especially  when  I was  in  Italy,  omens  and  prophecies  before 
now  beget  their  owii  fulfilment,  by  driving  men  into  reckless- 
ness, and  making  them  run  headlong  upon  that  very  ruin 
which,  as  they  fancied,  was  running  upon  them.” 

“And  which,”  said  Sir  Richard,  “they  might  have  avoided, 
if,  instead  of  trusting  in  I know  not  what  dumb  and  dark 
destiny,  they  had  trusted  in  the  living  God,  by  faith  in  whom 
men  may  remove  mountains,  and  quench  the  fire,  and  put  to 
flight  the  armies  of  the  alien.  I too  know,  and  know  not 
how  I know,  that  I shall  never  die  in  my  bed.” 

“ God  forfend  ! ” cried  Mrs.  Leigh. 

“And  why,  fair  Madam,  if  I die  doing  my  duty  to  my  God 
and  my  queen  ? The  thought  never  moves  me : nay,  to  tell 
the  truth,  I pray  often  enough  that  I may  be  spared  the 
miseries  of  imbecile  old  age,  and  that  end  which  the  old  North- 
men rightly  called  ‘ a cow’s  death  ’ rather  than  a man’s.  But 
enough  of  this.  Mr.  Leigh,  you  have  done  wisely  to-night. 
Poor  Oxenham  does  not  go  on  his  voyage  with  a single  eye.  I 
have  talked  about  him  with  Drake  and  Hawkins ; and  I guess 
why  Mrs.  Leigh  touched  him  so  home  when  she  told  him  that 
he  had  no  child.” 

“Has  he  one,  then,  in  the  West  Indies'?”  cried  the  good 
lady. 

“ God  knows ; and  God  grant  we  may  not  hear  of  shame 
and  sorrow  fallen  upon  an  ancient  and  honourable  house  of 
Devon.  My  brother  Stukely  is  woe  enough  to  North  Devon 
for  this  generation.” 

u Poor  braggadocio  ! ” said  Mr.  Leigh  ; “ and  yet  not  alto- 
gether that  too,  for  he  can  fight  at  least.” 

“ So  can  every  mastiff  and  boar,  much  more  an  Englishman. 
And  now  come  hither  to  me,  my  adventurous  godson,  and  don’t 
look  in  such  doleful  dumps.  I hear  you  have  broken  all  the 
sailor-boys’  heads  already.” 


16  HOW  MR.  OXEN  HAM  [chap.  r. 

“ Nearly  all,”  said  young  Amyas,  with  due  modesty.  “ But 
am  I not  to  go  to  sea  ? ” 

“ All  things  in  their  time,  my  boy,  and  God  forbid  that 
either  I or  your  worthy  parents  should  keep  you  from  that 
noble  calling  which  is  the  safeguard  of  this  England  and  her 
queen.  But  you  do  not  wish  to  live  and  die  the  master  of  a 
trawler  ? ” 

“ I should  like  to  be  a brave  adventurer,  like  Mr.  Oxenham.” 

“ God  grant  you  become  a braver  man  than  he ! for  as  I 
think,  to  be  bold  against  the  enemy  is  common  to  the  brutes  ; 
but  the  prerogative  of  a man  is  to  be  bold  against  himself.” 

“ How,  sir  ? ” 

“ To  conquer  our  own  fancies,  Amyas,  and  our  own  lusts, 
and  our  ambition,  in  the  sacred  name  of  duty ; this  it  is  to  be 
truly  brave,  and  truly  strong  ; for  he  who  cannot  rule  himself, 
how  can  he  rule  his  crew  or  his  fortunes  ? Come,  now,  I will 
make  you  a promise.  If  you  will  bide  quietly  at  home,  and 
learn  from  your  father  and  mother  all  which  befits  a gentleman 
and  a Christian,  as  well  as  a seaman,  the  day  shall  come  when 
you  shall  sail  with  Richard  Grenvil  himself,  or  with  better  men 
than  he,  on  a nobler  errand  than  gold-hunting  on  the  Spanish 
Main.” 

“0  my  boy,  my  boy  !”  said  Mrs.  Leigh,  “hear  what  the 
good  Sir  Richard  promises  you.  Many  an  earl’s  son  would  be 
glad  to  be  in  your  place.” 

“ And  many  an  earl’s  son  will  be  glad  to  be  in  his  place  a 
score  years  hence,  if  he  will  but  learn  what  I know  you  two 
can  teach  him.  And  now,  Amyas,  my  lad,  I will  tell  you  for 
a warning  the  history  of  that  Sir  Thomas  Stukely  of  whom  I 
spoke  just  now,  and  who  was,  as  all  men  know,  a gallant  and 
courtly  knight,  of  an  ancient  and  worshipful  family  in  Ilfra- 
combe, well  practised  in  the  wars,  and  well  beloved  at  first  by 
our  incomparable  queen,  the  friend  of  all  true  virtue,  as  I 
trust  she  will  be  of  yours  some  day ; who  wanted  but  one  step 
to  greatness,  and  that  was  this,  that  in  his  hurry  to  rule  all 
the  world,  he  forgot  to  rule  himself.  At  first,  he  wasted  his 
estate  in  show  and  luxury,  always  intending  to  be  famous,  and 
destroying  his  own  fame  all  the  while  by  his  vainglory  and 
haste.  Then,  to  retrieve  his  losses,  he  hit  upon  the  peopling 
of  Florida,  which  thou  and  I will  see  done  some  day,  by  God’s 
blessing ; for  I and  some  good  friends  of  mine  have  an  errand 
there  as  well  as  he.  But  he  did  not  go  about  it  as  a loyal 
man,  to  advance  the  honour  of  his  queen,  but  his  own  honour 


SAW  THE  WHITE  BIRD. 


17 


CHAP.  I.J 


only,  dreaming  that  he  too  should  be  a king;  and  was  not 
ashamed  to  tell  her  majesty  that  he  had  rather  be  sovereign  of 
a molehill  than  the  highest  subject  of  an  emperor.” 

“ They  say,”  said  Mr.  Leigh,  “ that  he  told  her  plainly  he 
should  be  a-  prince  before  he  died,  and  that  she  gave  him  one 
of  her  pretty  quips  in  return.” 

“ I don’t  know  that  her  majesty  had  the  best  of  it.  A fool 
is  many  times  too  strong  for  a wise  man,  by  virtue  of  his  thick 
hide.  For  when  she  said  that  she  hoped  she  should  hear  from 
him  in  his  new  principality,  ‘Yes,  sooth/  says  he,  graciously 
enough.  ‘ And  in  what  style  V asks  she.  ‘ To  our  dear  sister/ 
says  Stukely  : to  which  her  clemency  had  nothing  to  reply,  but 
turned  away,  as  Mr.  Burleigh  told  me,  laughing.” 

“ Alas  for  him  !”  said  gentle  Mrs.  Leigh.  “ Such  self-con- 
ceit— and  Heaven  knows  we  have  the  root  of  it  in  ourselves 
also — is  the  very  daughter  of  self-will,  and  of  that  loud  crying 
out  about  I,  and  me,  and  mine,  which  is  the  very  bird-call  for 
all  devils,  and  the  broad  road  which  leads  to  death.” 

“ It  will  lead  him  to  his,”  said  Sir  Bichard ; “ God  grant  it 
be  not  upon  Tower-hill ! for  since  that  Florida  plot,  and  after 
that  his  hopes  of  Irish  preferment  came  to  nought,  he  who 
could  not  help  himself  by  fair  means  has  taken  to  foul  ones, 
and  gone  over  to  Italy  to  the  Pope,  whose  infallibility  has  not 
been  proof  against  Stukely’s  wit ; for  he  was  soon  his  Holiness’s 
closet  counsellor,  and,  they  say,  his  bosom  friend ; and  made 
him  give  credit  to  his  boasts  that,  with  three  thousand  soldiers 
he  would  beat  the  English  out  of  Ireland,  and  make  the  Pope’s 
son  king  of  it.” 

“ Ay,  but,”  said  Mr.  Leigh,  “ I suppose  the  Italians  have 
the  same  fetch  now  as  they  had  when  I was  there,  to  explain 
such  ugly  cases ; namely,  that  the  Pope  is  infallible  only  in 
doctrine,  and  quoad  Pope  ; while  quoad  hominem,  he  is  even  as 
others,  or  indeed,  in  general,  a deal  worse,  so  that  the  office, 
and  not  the  man,  may  be  glorified  thereby.  But  where  is 
Stukely  now  ?” 

“ At  Rome  when  last  I heard  of  him,  ruffling  it  up  and  down 
the  Vatican  as  Baron  Ross,  Viscount  Murrough,  Earl  Wexford, 
Marquis  Leinster,  and  a title  or  two  more,  which  have  cost  the 
Pope  little,  seeing  that  they  never  were  his  to  give ; and  plot- 
ting, they  say,  some  hair-brained  expedition  against  Ireland  by 
the  help  of  the  Spanish  king,  which  must  end  in  nothing  but 
his  shame  and  ruin.  And  now,  my  sweet  hosts,  I must  call  for 
serving-boy  and  lantern,  and  home  to  my  bed  in  Bideford.” 

c 


18 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[chap.  ii. 

And  so  Amyas  Leigh  went  back  to  school,  and  Mr.  Oxen- 
ham  went  his  way  to  Plymouth  again,  and  sailed  for  the 
Spanish  Main. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME  THE  FIRST  TIME. 

“ Si  taceant  homines,  facient  te  sidera  notum, 

Sol  nescit  comitis  immemor  esse  sui.” 

Old  Epigram  on  Brahe. 

Five  years  are  past  and  gone.  It  is  nine  of  the  clock  on  a still, 
bright  November  morning  ; but  the  bells  of  Bideford  church  are 
still  ringing  for  the  daily  service  two  hours  after  the  usual  time ; 
and  instead  of  going  soberly  according  to  wont,  cannot  help 
breaking  forth  every  five  minutes  into  a jocund  peal,  and 
tumbling  head  over  heels  in  ecstasies  of  joy.  Bideford  streets 
are  a very  flower-garden  of  all  the  colours,  swarming  with  sea- 
men and  burghers,  and  burghers’  wives  and  daughters,  all  in 
their  holiday  attire.  Garlands  are  hung  across  the  streets,  and 
tapestries  from  every  window.  The  ships  in  the  pool  are 
dressed  in  all  their  flags,  and  give  tumultuous  vent  to  their 
feelings  by  peals  of  ordnance  of  every  size.  Every  stable  is 
crammed  with  horses ; and  Sir  Richard  Grenvil’s  house  is  like 
a very  tavern,  with  eating  and  drinking,  and  unsaddling,  and 
running  to  and  fro  of  grooms  and  serving-men.  Along  the 
little  churchyard,  packed  full  with  women,  streams  all  the  gentle 
blood  of  North  Devon, — tall  and  stately  men,  and  fair  ladies, 
worthy  of  the  days  when  the  gentry  of  England  were  by  due 
right  the  leaders  of  the  people,  by  personal  prowess  and  beauty, 
as  well  as  by  intellect  and  education.  And  first,  there  is  my 
lady  Countess  of  Bath,  whom  Sir  Richard  Grenvil  is  escorting, 
cap  in  haud  (for  her  good  Earl  Bourchier  is  in  London  with 
the  queen) ; and  there  are  Bassets  from  beautiful  Umberleigh, 
and  Carys  from  more  beautiful  Clovelly,  and  Fortescues  of 
Wear,  and  Fortescues  of  Buckland,  and  Fortescues  from  all 
quarters,  and  Coles  from  Slade,  and  Stukelys  from  Affton,  and 
St.  Legers  from  Annery,  and  Coffins  from  Portledge,  and  even 
Coplestones  from  Eggesford,  thirty  miles  away : and  last,  but 
not  least  (for  almost  all  stop  to  give  them  place),  Sir  John 
Chichester  of  Ralegh,  followed  in  single  file,  after  the  good  old 
patriarchal  fashion,  by  his  eight  daughters,  and  three  of  his 


Bide  ford  Church . 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


19 


CHAP.  II.] 

five  famous  sons  (one,  to  avenge  his  murdered  brother,  is 
fighting  valiantly  in  Ireland,  hereafter  to  rule  there  wisely  also, 
as  Lord  Deputy  and  Baron  of  Belfast) ; and  he  meets  at  the 
gate  his  cousin  of  Arlington,  and  behind  him  a train  of  four 
daughters  and  nineteen  sons,  the  last  of  whom  has  not  yet 
passed  the  Town-hall,  while  the  first  is  at  the  Lychgate,  who, 
laughing,  make  way  for  the  elder  though  shorter  branch  of  that 
most  fruitful  tree ; and  so  on  into  the  church,  where  all  are 
placed  according  to  their  degrees,  or  at  least  as  near  as  may 
be,  not  without  a few  sour  looks,  and  shovings,  and  whisperings, 
from  one  high-born  matron  and  another  j till  the  churchwardens 
and  sidesmen,  who  never  had  before  so  goodly  a company  to 
arrange,  have  bustled  themselves  hot,  and  red,  and  frantic,  and 
end  by  imploring  abjectly  the  help  of  the  great  Sir  Bichard 
himself  to  tell  them  who  everybody  is,  and  which  is  the  elder 
branch,  and  which  is  the  younger,  and  who  carries  eight 
quarterings  in  their  arms,  and  who  only  four,  and  so  prevent 
their  setting  at  deadly  feud  half  the  fine  ladies  of  North 
Devon ; for  the  old  men  are  all  safe  packed  away  in  the  cor- 
poration pews,  and  the  young  ones  care  only  to  get  a place 
whence  they  may  eye  the  ladies.  And  at  last  there  is  a silence, 
and  a looking  toward  the  door,  and  then  distant  music,  flutes 
and  hautboys,  drums  and  trumpets,  which  come  braying,  and 
screaming,  and  thundering  merrily  up  to  the  very  church  doors, 
and  then  cease ; and  the  churchwardens  and  sidesmen  bustle 
down  to  the  entrance,  rods  in  hand,  and  there  is  a general 
whisper  and  rustle,  not  without  glad  tears  and  blessings  from 
many  a woman,  and  from  some  men  also,  as  the  wonder  of  the 
day  enters,  and  the  rector  begins,  not  the  morning  service,  but 
the  good  old  thanksgiving  after  a victory  at  sea. 

And  what  is  it  which  has  thus  sent  old  Bideford  wild 
with  that  “goodly  joy  and  pious  mirth,”  of  which  we  now  only 
retain  traditions  in  our  translation  of  the  Psalms  ? Why  are 
all  eyes  fixed,  with  greedy  admiration,  on  those  four  weather- 
beaten mariners,  decked  out  with  knots  and  ribbons  by  loving 
hands ; and  yet  more  on  that  gigantic  figure  who  walks  before 
them,  a beardless  boy,  and  yet  with  the  frame  and  stature  of 
a Hercules,  towering,  like  Saul  of  old,  a head  and  shoulders 
above  all  the  congregation,  with  his  golden  locks  flowing  down 
over  his  shoulders  1 And  why,  as  the  five  go  instinctively  up 
to  the  altar,  and  there  fall  on  their  knees  before  the  rails,  are 
all  eyes  turned  to  the  pew  where  Mrs.  Leigh  of  Burrough  has 
hid  her  face  between  her  hands,  and  her  hood  rustles  and 


20 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[CHAP.  II. 

shakes  to  her  joyful  sobs  ? Because  there  was  fellow-feeling  of 
old  in  merry  England,  in  county  and  in  town ; and  these  are 
Devon  men,  and  men  of  Bideford,  whose  names  are  Amyas 
Leigh  of  Burrough,  John  Staveley,  Michael  Heard,  and  Jonas 
Marshall  of  Bideford,  and  Thomas  Braund  of  Clovelly : and 
they,  the  first  of  all  English  mariners,  have  sailed  round  the 
world  with  Francis  Drake,  and  are  come  hither  to  give  God 
thanks. 

It  is  a long  story.  To  explain  how  it  happened  we  must 
go  back  for  a page  or  two,  almost  to  the  point  from  whence  we 
started  in  the  last  chapter. 

For  somewhat  more  than  a twelvemonth  after  Mr.  Oxen- 
ham’s  departure,  young  Amyas  had  gone  on  quietly  enough, 
according  to  promise,  with  the  exception  of  certain  occasional 
outbursts  of  fierceness  common  to  all  young  male  animals,  and 
especially  to  boys  of  any  strength  of  character.  His  scholar- 
ship, indeed,  progressed  no  better  than  before ; but  his  home 
education  went  on  healthily  enough ; and  he  was  fast  becoming, 
young  as  he  was,  a right  good  archer,  and  rider,  and  swords- 
man (after  the  old  school  of  buckler  practice),  \yhen  his  father, 
having  gone  down  on  business  to  the  Exeter  Assizes,  caught 
(as  was  too  common  in  those  days)  the  gaol-fever  from  the 
prisoners;  sickened  in  the  very  court;  and  died  within  a week. 

And  now  Mrs.  Leigh  was  left  to  God  and  her  own  soul, 
with  this  young  lion-cub  in  leash,  to  tame  and  train  for  this 
life  and  the  life  to  come.  She  had  loved  her  husband  fervently 
and  holily.  He  had  been  often  peevish,  often  melancholy  ; for 
he  was  a disappointed  man,  with  an  estate  impoverished  by  his 
father’s  folly,  and  his  own  youthful  ambition,  which  had  led 
him  up  to  Court,  and  made  him  waste  his  heart  and  his  purse 
in  following  a vain  shadow.  He  was  one  of  those  men,  more- 
over, who  possess  almost  every  gift  except  the  gift  of  the  power 
to  use  them ; and  though  a scholar,  a courtier,  and  a soldier, 
he  had  found  himself,  when  he  was  past  forty,  without  settled 
employment  or  aim  in  life,  by  reason  of  a certain  shyness,  pride, 
or  delicate  honour  (call  it  which  you  will),  which  had  always 
kept  him  from  playing  a winning  game  in  that  very  world  after 
whose  prizes  he  hankered  to  the  last,  and  on  which  he  revenged 
himself  by  continual  grumbling.  At  last,  by  his  good  luck, 
he  met  with  a fair  young  Miss  Foljambe,  of  Derbyshire,  then 
about  Queen  Elizabeth’s  Court,  who  was  as  tired  as  he  of  the 
sins  of  the  world,  though  she  had  seen  less  of  them ; and  the  two 
contrived  to  please  each  other  so  well,  that  though  the  queen 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


21 


CHAP.  IT.] 

grumbled  a little,  as  usual,  at  the  lady  for  marrying,  and  at 
the  gentleman  for  adoring  any  one  but  her  royal  self,  they  got 
leave  to  vanish  from  the  little  Babylon  at  Whitehall,  and  settle 
in  peace  at  Burrough.  In  her  he  found  a treasure,  and  he  knew 
what  he  had  found. 

Mrs.  Leigh  was,  and  had  been  from  her  youth,  one  of  those 
noble  old  English  churchwomen,  without  superstition,  and  with- 
out severity,  who  are  among  the  fairest  features  of  that  heroic 
time.  There  was  a certain  melancholy  about  her,  nevertheless ; 
for  the  recollections  of  her  childhood  carried  her  back  to  times 
when  it  was  an  awful  thing  to  be  a Protestant.  She  could 
remember  among  them,  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  the  burning 
of  poor  blind  Joan  Waste  at  Derby,  and  of  Mistress  Joyce 
Lewis,  too,  like  herself,  a lady  born  ; and  sometimes  even  now, 
in  her  nightly  dreams,  rang  in  her  ears  her  mother’s  bitter  cries 
to  God,  either  to  spare  her  that  fiery  torment,  or  to  give  her 
strength  to  bear  it,  as  she  whom  she  loved  had  borne  it  before 
her.  For  her  mother,  who  was  of  a good  family  in  Yorkshire, 
had  been  one  of  Queen  Catherine’s  bedchamber  women,  and 
the  bosom  friend  and  disciple  of  Anne  Askew.  And  she  had 
sat  in  Smithfield,  with  blood  curdled  by  horror,  to  see  the  hap- 
less Court  beauty,  a month  before  the  paragon  of  Henry’s  Court, 
carried  in  a chair  (so  crippled  was  she  by  the  rack)  to  her  fiery 
doom  at  the  stake,  beside  her  fellow -courtier,  Mr.  Lascelles, 
while  the  very  heavens  seemed  to  the  shuddering  mob  around 
to  speak  their  wrath  and  grief  in  solemn  thunder  peals,  and 
heavy  drops  which  hissed  upon  the  crackling  pile. 

Therefore  a sadness  hung  upon  her  all  her  life,  and  deepened 
in  the  days  of  Queen  Mary,  when,  as  a notorious  Protestant 
and  heretic  she  had  had  to  hide  for  her  life  among  the  hills 
and  caverns  of  the  Peak,  and  was  only  saved  by  the  love  which 
her  husband’s  tenants  bore  her,  and  by  his  bold  declaration 
that,  good  Catholic  as  he  was,  he  would  run  through  the  body 
any  constable,  justice,  or  priest,  yea,  bishop  or  cardinal,  who 
dared  to  serve  the  Queen’s  warrant  upon  his  wife. 

So  she  escaped : but,  as  I said,  a sadness  hung  upon  her 
all  her  life ; and  the  skirt  of  that  dark  mantle  fell  upon  the 
young  girl  who  had  been  the  partner  of  her  wanderings  and 
hidings  among  the  lonely  hills  ; and  who,  after  she  was  married, 
gave  herself  utterly  up  to  God. 

And  yet  in  giving  herself  to  God,  Mrs.  Leigh  gave  herself 
to  her  husband,  her  children,  and  the  poor  of  Northam  town, 
and  was  none  the  less  welcome  to  the  Grenviles,  and  Fortescues, 


22 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[CHAP.  II. 


and  Chichesters,  and  all  the  gentle  families  round,  who  honoured 
her  husband’s  talents,  and  enjoyed  his  wit.  She  accustomed 
herself  to  austerities,  which  often  called  forth  the  kindly  rebukes 
of  her  husband;  and  yet  she  did  so  without  one  superstitious 
thought  of  appeasing  the  fancied  wrath  of  God,  or  of  giving 
Him  pleasure  (base  thought)  by  any  pain  of  hers  ; for  her  spirit 
had  been  trained  in  the  freest  and  loftiest  doctrines  of  Luther’s 
school;  and  that  little  mystic  “Alt-Deutsch  Theologie”  (to 
which  the  great  Reformer  said  that  he  owed  more  than  to  any 
book,  save  the  Bible,  and  St.  Augustine)  was  her  counsellor 
and  comforter  by  day  and  night. 

And  now,  at  little  past  forty,  she  was  left  a widow : lovely 
still  in  face  and  figure ; and  still  more  lovely  from  the  divine 
calm  which  brooded,  like  the  dove  of  peace  and  the  Holy  Spirit 
of  God  (which  indeed  it  was),  over  every  look,  and  word,  and 
gesture ; a sweetness  which  had  been  ripened  by  storm,  as  well 
as  by  sunshine;  which  this  world  had  not  given,  and  could 
not  take  away.  Ho  wonder  that  Sir  Richard  and  Lady  Gren- 
vile  loved  her ; no  wonder  that  her  children  worshipped  her ; 
no  wonder  that  the  young  Amyas,  when  the  first  burst  of  grief 
was  over,  and  he  knew  again  where  he  stood,  felt  that  a new 
life  had  begun  for  him ; that  his  mother  was  no  more  to  think 
and  act  for  him  only,  but  that  he  must  think  and  act  for  his 
mother.  And  so  it  was,  that  on  the  very  day  after  his  father’s 
funeral,  when  school-hours  were  over,  instead  of  coming  straight 
home,  he  walked  boldly  into  Sir  Richard  Grenvile’s  house,  and 
asked  to  see  his  godfather. 

“ You  must  be  my  father  now,  sir,”  said  he  firmly. 

And  Sir  Richard  looked  at  the  boy’s  broad  strong  face, 
and  swore  a great  and  holy  oath,  like  Glasgerion’s,  “ by  oak, 
and  ash,  and  thorn,”  that  he  would  be  a father  to  him,  and  a 
brother  to  his  mother,  for  Christ’s  sake.  And  Lady  Grenvile 
took  the  boy  by  the  hand,  and  walked  home  with  him  to  Bur- 
rough  ; and  there  the  two  fair  women  fell  on  each  other’s 
necks,  and  wept  together ; the  one  for  the  loss  which  had 
been,  the  other,  as  by  a prophetic  instinct,  for  the  like  loss 
which  was  to  come  to  her  also.  For  the  sweet  St.  Leger 
knew  well  that  her  husband’s  fiery  spirit  would  never  leave 
his  body  on  a peaceful  bed ; but  that  death  (as  he  prayed 
almost  nightly  that  it  might)  would  find  him  sword  in  hand, 
upon  the  field  of  duty  and  of  fame.  And  there  those  two  vowed 
everlasting  sisterhood,  and  kept  their  vow ; and  after  that  all 
things  went  on  at  Burrough  as  before ; and  Amyas  rode,  and 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


23 


CHAP.  II.] 


shot,  and  boxed,  and  wandered  on  the  quay  at  Sir  Richard’s 
side  ; for  Mrs.  Leigh  was  too  wise  a woman  to  alter  one  tittle 
of  the  training  which  her  husband  had  thought  best  for  his 
younger  boy.  It  was  enough  that  her  elder  son  had  of  his  own 
accord  taken  to  that  form  of  life  in  which  she  in  her  secret 
heart  would  fain  have  moulded  both  her  children.  For  Frank, 
God’s  wedding  gift  to  that  pure  love  of  hers,  had  won  himself 
honour  at  home  and  abroad  ; first  at  the  school  at  Bideford  ; 
then  at  Exeter  College,  where  he  had  become  a friend  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney’s,  and  many  another  young  man  of  rank  and  pro- 
mise; and  next,  in  the  summer  of  1572,  on  his  way  to  the 
University  of  Heidelberg,  he  had  gone  to  Paris,  with  (luckily 
for  him)  letters  of  recommendation  to  Walsingham,  at  the 
English  Embassy  : by  which  letters  he  not  only  fell  in  a second 
time  with  Philip  Sidney,  but  saved  his  own  life  (as  Sidney  did 
his)  in  the  Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew’s  Day.  At  Heidel- 
berg he  had  stayed  two  years,  winning  fresh  honour  from  all 
who  knew  him,  and  resisting  all  Sidney’s  entreaties  to  follow 
him  into  Italy.  For,  scorning  to  be  a burden  to  his  parents, 
he  had  become  at  Heidelberg  tutor  to  two  young  German 
princes,  whom,  after  living  with  them  at  their  father’s  house 
for  a year  or  more,  he  at  last,  to  his  own  great  delight,  took 
with  him  down  to  Padua,  “ to  perfect  them,”  as  he  wrote  home, 
“ according  to  his  insufficiency,  in  all  princely  studies.”  Sidney 
was  now  returned  to  England  ; but  Frank  found  friends  enough 
without  him,  such  letters  of  recommendation  and  diplomas  did 
he  carry  from  I know  not  how  many  princes,  magnificoes,  and 
learned  doctors,  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  learning, 
modesty,  and  virtue  of  the  fair  young  Englishman.  And  ere 
Frank  returned  to  Germany  he  had  satiated  his  soul  with  all 
the  wonders  of  that  wondrous  land.  He  had  talked  over  the 
art  of  sonnetering  with  Tasso,  the  art  of  history  with  Sarpi ; 
he  had  listened,  between  awe  and  incredulity,  to  the  daring 
theories  of  Galileo ; he  had  taken  his  pupils  to  Venice,  that 
their  portraits  might  be  painted  by  Paul  Veronese ; he  had 
seen  the  palaces  of  Palladio,  and  the  Merchant  Princes  on  the 
Rialto,  and  the  Argosies  of  Ragusa,  and  all  the  wonders  of 
that  meeting-point  of  east  and  west ; he  had  watched  Tintor- 
etto’s mighty  hand  “hurling  tempestuous  glories  o’er  the 
scene;”  and  even,  by  dint  of  private  intercession  in  high 
places,  had  been  admitted  to  that  sacred  room  where,  with 
long  silver  beard  and  undimmed  eye,  amid  a pantheon  of  his 
own  creations,  the  ancient  Titian,  patriarch  of  art,  still  lingered 


24  HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME  [CHAP.  II. 

upon  earth,  and  told  old  tales  of  the  Bellinis,  and  Raffaelle,  and 
Michael  Angelo,  and  the  building  of  St.  Peter’s,  and  the  fire  at 
Venice,  and  the  Sack  of  Rome,  and  of  kings  and  warriors, 
statesmen  and  poets,  long  since  gone  to  their  account,  and 
showed  the  sacred  brush  which  Francis  the  First  had  stooped 
to  pick  up  for  him.  And  (licence  forbidden  to  Sidney  by  his 
friend  Languet)  he  had  been  to  Rome,  and  seen  (much  to  the 
scandal  of  good  Protestants  at  home)  that  “ right  good  fellow,” 
as  Sidney  calls  him,  who  had  not  yet  eaten  himself  to  death, 
the  Pope  for  the  time  being.  And  he  had  seen  the  frescoes  of 
the  Vatican,  and  heard  Palestrina  preside  as  chapel-master  over 
the  performance  of  his  own  music  beneath  the  dome  of  St. 
Peter’s,  and  fallen  half  in  love  with  those  luscious  strains,  till 
he  was  awakened  from  his  dream  by  the  recollection  that 
beneath  that  same  dome  had  gone  up  thanksgivings  to  the  God 
of  heaven  for  those  blood-stained  streets,  and  shrieking  women, 
and  heaps  of  insulted  corpses,  which  he  had  beheld  in  Paris  on 
the  night  of  St.  Bartholomew.  At  last,  a few  months  before 
his  father  died,  he  had  taken  back  his  pupils  to  their  home  in 
Germany,  from  whence  he  was  dismissed,  as  he  wrote,  with 
rich  gifts ; and  then  Mrs.  Leigh’s  heart  beat  high,  at  the 
thought  that  the  wanderer  would  return  : but,  alas  ! within  a 
month  after  his  father’s  death,  came  a long  letter  from  Frank, 
describing  the  Alps,  and  the  valleys  of  the  Waldenses  (with 
whose  Barbes  he  had  had  much  talk  about  the  late  horrible 
persecutions),  and  setting  forth  how  at  Padua  he  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  that  illustrious  scholar  and  light  of  the  age, 
Stephanus  Parmenius  (commonly  called  from  his  native  place, 
Budaeus),  who  had  visited  Geneva  with  him,  and  heard  the 
disputations  of  their  most  learned  doctors,  which  both  he  and 
Budaeus  disliked  for  their  hard  judgments  both  of  God  and 
man,  as  much  as  they  admired  them  for  their  subtlety,  being 
themselves,  as  became  Italian  students,  Platonists  of  the  school 
of  Ficinus  and  Picus  Mirandolensis.  So  wrote  Master  Frank, 
in  a long  sententious  letter,  full  of  Latin  quotations : but  the 
letter  never  reached  the  eyes  of  him  for  whose  delight  it  had 
been  penned : and  the  widow  had  to  weep  over  it  alone,  and  to 
weep  more  bitterly  than  ever  at  the  conclusion,  in  which,  with 
many  excuses,  Frank  said  that  he  had,  at  the  special  entreaty 
of  the  said  Budaeus,  set  out  with  him  down  the  Danube  stream 
to  Buda,  that  he  might,  before  finishing  his  travels,  make 
experience  of  that  learning  for  which  the  Hungarians  were 
famous  throughout  Europe.  And  after  that,  though  he  wrote 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


25 


CHAP.  II.] 

again  and  again  to  the  father  whom  he  fancied  living,  no  letter 
in  return  reached  him  from  home  for  nearly  two  years ; till,  fear- 
ing some  mishap,  he  hurried  hack  to  England,  to  find  his  mother 
a widow,  and  his  brother  Amyas  gone  to  the  South  Seas  with 
Captain  Drake  of  Plymouth.  And  yet,  even  then,  after  years 
of  absence,  he  was  not  allowed  to  remain  at  home.  For  Sir 
Richard,  to  whom  idleness  was  a thing  horrible  and  unrighteous, 
would  have  him  up  and  doing  again  before  six  months  were 
over,  and  sent  him  off  to  Court  to  Lord  Hunsdon. 

There,  being  as  delicately  beautiful  as  his  brother  was 
huge  and  strong,  he  had  speedily,  by  Carew’s  interest  and  that 
of  Sidney  and  his  Uncle  Leicester,  found  entrance  into  some 
office  in  the  Queen’s  household  ; and  he  was  now  basking  in 
the  full  sunshine  of  Court  favour,  and  fair  ladies’  eyes,  and  all 
the  chivalries  and  euphuisms  of  Gloriana’s  fairy-land,  and  the 
fast  friendship  of  that  bright  meteor  Sidney,  who  had  returned 
with  honour  in  1577,  from  the  delicate  mission  on  behalf  of 
the  German  and  Belgian  Protestants,  on  which  he  had  been 
sent  to  the  Court  of  Vienna,  under  colour  of  condoling  with 
the  new  Emperor  Rodolph  on  his  father’s  death.  Frank  found 
him  when  he  himself  came  to  Court  in  1579  as  lovely  and 
loving  as  ever ; and,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-five,  acknow- 
ledged as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  Europe,  the  patron 
of  all  men  of  letters,  the  counsellor  of  warriors  and  statesmen, 
and  the  confidant  and  advocate  of  William  of  Orange,  Languet, 
Plessis  du  Mornay,  and  all  the  Protestant  leaders  on  the  Con- 
tinent ; and  found,  moreover,  that  the  son  of  the  poor  Devon 
squire  was  as  welcome  as  ever  to  the  friendship  of  nature’s  and 
fortune’s  most  favoured,  yet  most  unspoilt,  minion. 

Poor  Mrs.  Leigh,  as  one  who  had  long  since  learned  to  have 
no  self,  and  to  live  not  only  for  her  children,  but  in  them,  sub- 
mitted without  a murmur,  and  only  said,  smiling,  to  her  stern 
friend — “You  took  away  my  mastiff-pup,  and  now  you  must 
needs  have  my  fair  greyhound  also.” 

“ Would  you  have  your  fair  greyhound,  dear  lady,  grow  up 
a tall  and  true  Cotswold  dog,  that  can  pull  down  a stack  of 
ten,  or  one  of  those  smooth-skinned  poppets  which  the  Florence 
ladies  lead  about  with  a ring  of  bells  round  its  neck,  and  a 
flannel  farthingale  over  its  loins  ? ” 

Mrs.  Leigh  submitted ; and  was  rewarded  after  a few 
months  by  a letter,  sent  through  Sir  Richard,  from  none  other 
than  Gloriana  herself,  in  which  she  thanked  her  for  “ the  loan 
of  that  most  delicate  and  flawless  crystal,  the  soul  of  her 


26 


HOW  AMY  AS  CAME  HOME 


[CHAP.  II. 


excellent  son,”  with  more  praises  of  him  than  I have  room  to 
insert,  and  finished  by  exalting  the  poor  mother  above  the 
famed  Cornelia ; “ for  those  sons,  whom  she  called  her  jewels, 
she  only  showed,  yet  kept  them  to  herself : but  you,  madam, 
having  two  as  precious,  I doubt  not,  as  were  ever  that  Roman 
dame’s,  have,  beyond  her  courage,  lent  them  both  to  your  coun- 
try and  to  your  queen,  who  therein  holds  herself  indebted  to 
you  for  that  which,  if  God  give  her  grace,  she  will  repay  as 
becomes  both  her  and  you.”  Which  epistle  the  sweet  mother 
bedewed  with  holy  tears,  and  laid  by  in  the  cedar-box  which 
held  her  household  gods,  by  the  side  of  Frank’s  innumerable 
diplomas  and  letters  of  recommendation,  the  Latin  whereof  she 
was  always  spelling  over  (although  she  understood  not  a word 
of  it),  in  hopes  of  finding,  here  and  there,  that  precious 
excellentissimus  Nosier  Franciscus  Leighius  Anglus , which  was 
all  in  all  to  the  mother’s  heart. 

But  why  did  Amyas  go  to  the  South  Seas  ? Amyas 
went  to  the  South  Seas  for  two  causes,  each  of  which  has, 
before  now,  sent  many  a lad  to  far  worse  places : first,  because 
of  an  old  schoolmaster ; secondly,  because  of  a young  beauty. 
I will  take  them  in  order  and  explain. 

Vindex  Brimblecombe,  whilom  servitor  of  Exeter  College, 
Oxford  (commonly  called  Sir  Vindex,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
times),  was,  in  those  days,  master  of  the  grammar-school  of 
Bideford.  He  was,  at  root,  a godly  and  kind-hearted  pedant 
enough ; but,  like  most  schoolmasters  in  the  old  flogging  days, 
had  his  heart  pretty  well  hardened  by  long,  baneful  licence  to 
inflict  pain  at  will  on  those  weaker  than  himself ; a power 
healthful  enough  for  the  victim  (for,  doubtless,  flogging  is  the 
best  of  all  punishments,  being  not  only  the  shortest,  but  also  a 
mere  bodily  and  animal,  and  not,  like  most  of  our  new-fangled 
“ humane  ” punishments,  a spiritual  and  fiendish  torture),  but 
for  the  executioner  pretty  certain  to  eradicate,  from  all  but  the 
noblest  spirits,  every  trace  of  chivalry  and  tenderness  for  the 
weak,  as  well,  often,  as  all  self-control  and  command  of  temper. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  old  Sir  Vindex  had  heart  enough  to  feel  that 
it  was  now  his  duty  to  take  especial  care  of  the  fatherless  boy 
to  whom  he  tried  to  teach  his  qui , quce,  quod : but  the  only 
outcome  of  that  new  sense  of  responsibility  was  a rapid  increase 
in  the  number  of  floggings,  which  rose  from  about  two  a week 
to  one  per  diera,  not  without  consequences  to  the  pedagogue 
himself. 

For  all  this  while,  Amyas  had  never  for  a moment  lost  sight 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


27 


CHAP.  II.] 

of  his  darling  desire  for  a sea-life;  and  when  he  could  not 
wander  on  the  quay  and  stare  at  the  shipping,  or  go  down  to 
the  pebble-ridge  at  Northam,  and  there  sit,  devouring,  with 
hungry  eyes,  the  great  expanse  of  ocean,  which  seemed  to  woo 
him  outward  into  boundless  space,  he  used  to  console  himself,  in 
school-hours,  by  drawing  ships  and  imaginary  charts  upon  his 
slate,  instead  of  minding  his  “ humanities.” 

Now  it  befell,  upon  an  afternoon,  that  he  was  very  busy  at 
a map,  or  bird’s-eye  view  of  an  island,  whereon  was  a great  castle, 
and  at  the  gate  thereof  a dragon,  terrible  to  see ; while,  in  the 
foreground  came  that  which  was  meant  for  a gallant  ship, 
with  a great  flag  aloft,  but  which,  by  reason  of  the  forest  of 
lances  with  which  it  was  crowded,  looked  much  more  like  a 
porcupine  carrying  a sign -post ; and,  at  the  roots  of  those 
lances,  many  little  round  o’s,  "whereby  were  signified  the  heads 
of  Amyas  and  his  schoolfellows,  who  were  about  to  slay  that 
dragon,  and  rescue  the  beautiful  princess  who  dwelt  in  that 
enchanted  tower.  To  behold  which  marvel  of  art,  all  the  other 
boys  at  the  same  desk  must  needs  club  their  heads  together, 
and  with  the  more  security,  because  Sir  Vindex,  as  was  his 
custom  after  dinner,  was  lying  back  in  his  chair,  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  just. 

But  when  Amyas,  by  special  instigation  of  the  evil  spirit 
who  haunts  successful  artists,  proceeded  further  to  introduce, 
heedless  of  perspective,  a rock,  on  which  stood  the  lively  por- 
traiture of  Sir  Vindex — nose,  spectacles,  gown,  and  all ; and  in 
his  hand  a brandished  rod,  while  out  of  his  mouth  a label 
shrieked  after  the  runaways,  “ You  come  back ! ” while  a 
similar  label  replied  from  the  gallant  bark,  “Good-bye,  master!” 
the  shoving  and  tittering  rose  to  such  a pitch,  that  Cerberus 
awoke,  and  demanded  sternly  what  the  noise  was  about.  To 
which,  of  course,  there  was  no  answer. 

“You,  of  course,  Leigh  ! Come  up,  sir,  and  show  me  your 
exercitation.” 

Now  of  Amyas’s  exercitation  not  a word  was  written;  and, 
moreover,  he  was  in  the  very  article  of  putting  the  last  touches 
to  Mr.  Brimblecombe’s  portrait.  Whereon,  to  the  astonishment 
of  all  hearers,  he  made  answer — 

“All  in  good  time,  sir !”  and  went  on  drawing. 

“ In  good  time,  sir  ! Insolent,  veni  et  vapula  ! ” 

But  Amyas  went  on  drawing. 

“ Come  hither,  sirrah,  or  I’ll  flay  you  alive  !” 

“Wait  a bit !”  answered  Amyas. 


28 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[CHAP.  II. 


The  old  gentleman  jumped  up,  ferula  in  hand,  and  darted 
across  the  school,  and  saw  himself  upon  the  fatal  slate. 

“ Proh  Jiagitiumf  what  have  we  here,  villain  ?”  and  clutch- 
ing at  his  victim,  he  raised  the  cane.  Whereupon,  with  a serene 
and  cheerful  countenance,  up  rose  the  mighty  form  of  Amyas 
Leigh,  a head  and  shoulders  above  his  tormentor,  and  that  slate 
descended  on  the  bald  coxcomb  of  Sir  Yindex  Brimblecombe, 
with  so  shrewd  a blow,  that  slate  and  pate  cracked  at  the  same 
instant,  and  the  poor  pedagogue  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  lay 
for  dead. 

After  which  Amyas  arose,  and  walked  out  of  the  school, 
and  so  quietly  home ; and  having  taken  counsel  with  himself, 
went  to  his  mother,  and  said,  “Please,  mother,  I’ve  broken 
schoolmaster’s  head.” 

“Broken  his  head,  thou  wicked  boy!”  shrieked  the  poor 
widow  ; “ what  didst  do  that  for?” 

“ I can’t  tell,”  said  Amyas  penitently  ; “ I couldn’t  help  it. 
It  looked  so  smooth,  and  bald,  and  round,  and — you  know  ?” 

“ I know  ? Oh,  wicked  boy  ! thou  hast  given  place  to  the 
devil ; and  now,  perhaps,  thou  hast  killed  him.” 

“Killed  the  devil?”  asked  Amyas,  hopefully  but  doubtfully. 
“No,  killed  the  schoolmaster,  sirrah  ! Is  he  dead ?” 

“ I don’t  think  he’s  dead ; his  coxcomb  sounded  too  hard 
for  that.  But  had  not  I better  go  and  tell  Sir  Richard  ?” 

The  poor  mother  could  hardly  help  laughing,  in  spite  of  her 
terror,  at  Amyas’s  perfect  coolness  (which  was  not  in  the  least 
meant  for  insolence),  and  being  at  her  wits’  end,  sent  him,  as 
usual  to  his  godfather. 

Amyas  rehearsed  his  story  again,  with  pretty  nearly  the 
same  exclamations,  to  which  he  gave  pretty  nearly  the  same 
answers  ; and  then — - 

“ What  was  he  going  to  do  to  you,  then,  sirrah  ?” 

“ Flog  me,  because  I could  not  write  my  exercise,  and  so 
drew  a picture  of  him  instead.” 

“ What ! art  afraid  of  being  flogged  ?” 

“ Not  a bit ; besides,  I’m  too  much  accustomed  to  it ; but 
I was  busy,  and  he  was  in  such  a desperate  hurry ; and,  oh,  sir, 
if  you  had  but  seen  his  bald  head,  you  would  have  broken  it 
yourself ! ” 

Now  Sir  Richard  had,  twenty  years  ago.  in  like  place,  and 
very  much  in  like  manner,  broken  the  head  of  Yindex  Brimble- 
combe’s  father,  schoolmaster  in  his  day ; and  therefore  had  a 
precedent  to  direct  him  ; and  he  answered — 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


29 


CHAP.  II.] 

“ Amyas,  sirrah  ! those  who  cannot  obey  will  never  be  fit 
to  rule.  If  thou  canst  not  keep  discipline  now,  thou  wilt  never 
make  a company  or  a crew  keep  it  when  thou  art  grown.  Dost 
mind  that,  sirrah  ?” 

“Yes,”  said  Amyas. 

“ Then  go  back  to  school  this  moment,  sir,  and  be  flogged.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Amyas,  considering  that  he  had  got  off 
very  cheaply ; while  Sir  Richard,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  the 
room,  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  laughed  till  he  cried  again. 

So  Amyas  went  back,  and  said  that  he  was  come  to  be 
flogged ; whereon  the  old  schoolmaster,  whose  pate  had  been 
plastered  meanwhile,  wept  tears  of  joy  over  the  returning  prodi- 
gal, and  then  gave  him  such  a switching  as  he  did  not  forget 
for  eight-and-forty  hours. 

But  that  evening  Sir  Richard  sent  for  old  Vindex,  who 
entered,  trembling,  cap  in  hand ; and  having  primed  him  with 
a cup  of  sack,  said, — 

“Well,  Mr.  Schoolmaster  ! My  godson  has  been  somewhat 
too  much  for  you  to-day.  There  are  a couple  of  nobles  to  pay 
the  doctor.” 

“ 0 Sir  Richard,  gratias  tibi  et  Domino  ! but  the  boy  hits 
shrewdly  hard.  Nevertheless  I have  repaid  him  in  inverse  kind, 
and  set  him  an  imposition,  to  learn  me  one  of  Phsedrus  his  fables, 
Sir  Richard,  if  you  do  not  think  it  too  much.” 

“ Which,  then  1 The  one  about  the  man  who  brought  up  a 
lion’s  cub,  and  was  eaten  by  him  in  play  at  last  V 1 

“Ah,  Sir  Richard!  you  have  always  a merry  wit.  But, 
indeed,  the  boy  is  a brave  boy,  and  a quick  boy,  Sir  Richard, 
but  more  forgetful  than  Lethe  ; and — sapienti  loquor — it  were 
well  if  he  were  away,  for  I shall  never  see  him  again  without 
my  head  aching.  Moreover,  he  put  my  son  Jack  upon  the  fire 
last  Wednesday,  as  you  would  put  a football,  though  he  is  a 
year  older,  your  worship,  because,  he  said,  he  looked  so  like  a 
roasting  pig,  Sir  Richard.” 

“Alas,  poor  Jack  !” 

“ And  what’s  more,  your  worship,  he  is  pugnax , bellicosus , 
gladiator , a fire-eater  and  swash-buckler,  beyond  all  Christian 
measure ; a very  sucking  Entellus,  Sir  Richard,  and  will  do  to 
death  some  of  her  majesty’s  lieges  ere  long,  if  he  be  not  wisely 
curbed.  It  was  but  a month  agone  that  he  bemoaned  himself, 
I hear,  as  Alexander  did,  because  there  were  no  more  worlds  to 
conquer,  saying  that  it  was  a pity  he  was  so  strong ; for,  now  he 
had  thrashed  all  the  Bideford  lads,  he  had  no  sport  left ; and 


30 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[chap.  ii. 

so,  as  my  Jack  tells  me,  last  Tuesday  week  he  fell  upon  a 
young  man  of  Barnstaple,  Sir  Richard,  a hosier’s  man,  sir,  and 
plebeius  (which  I consider  unfit  for  one  of  his  blood),  and, 
moreover,  a man  full  grown,  and  as  big  as  either  of  us  (Yindex 
stood  five  feet  four  in  his  high-heeled  shoes),  and  smote  him 
clean  over  the  quay  into  the  mud,  because  he  said  that  there 
was  a prettier  maid  in  Barnstaple  (your  worship  will  forgive 
my  speaking  of  such  toys,  to  which  my  fidelity  compels  me) 
than  ever  Bideford  could  show;  and  then  offered  to  do  the 
same  to  any  man  who  dare  say  that  Mistress  Rose  Salterne, 
his  Worship  the  Mayor’s  daughter,  was  not  the  fairest  lass  in 
all  Devon.” 

“Eh  ? Say  that  over  again,  my  good  sir,”  quoth  Sir 
Richard,  who  had  thus  arrived,  as  we  have  seen,  at  the  second 
count  of  the  indictment.  “ I say,  good  sir,  whence  dost  thou 
hear  all  these  pretty  stories  1 ” 

“ My  son  Jack,  Sir  Richard,  my  son  Jack,  ingenui  vultus 
puer” 

“ But  not,  it  seems,  ingenui  pudoris.  Tell  thee  what,  Mr. 
Schoolmaster,  no  wonder  if  thy  son  gets  put  on  the  fire,  if  thou 
employ  him  as  a tale-bearer.  But  that  is  the  way  of  all 
pedagogues  and  their  sons,  by  which  they  train  the  lads  up 
eavesdroppers  and  favour-curriers,  and  prepare  them — sirrah, 
do  you  hear1? — for  a much  more  lasting  and  hotter  fire  than  that 
which  has  scorched  thy  son  Jack’s  nether-tackle.  Do  you  mark 
me,  sirT’ 

The  poor  pedagogue,  thus  cunningly  caught  in  his  own  trap, 
stood  trembling  before  his  patron,  who,  as  hereditary  head  of 
the  Bridge  Trust,  which  endowed  the  school  and  the  rest  of  the 
Bideford  charities,  could,  by  a turn  of  his  finger,  sweep  him 
forth  with  the  besom  of  destruction  ; and  he  gasped  with  terror 
as  Sir  Richard  went  on — 

“ Therefore,  mind  you,  Sir  Schoolmaster,  unless  you  shall 
promise  me  never  to  hint  word  of  what  has  passed  between  us 
two,  and  that  neither  you  nor  yours  shall  henceforth  carry  tales 
of  my  godson,  or  speak  his  name  within  a day’s  march  of  Mistress 
Salterne’s,  look  to  it,  if  I do  not ” 

What  was  to  be  done  in  default  was  not  spoken ; for  down 
went  poor  old  Yindex  on  his  knees  : — 

“ Oh,  Sir  Richard  ! Excellentissime,  immo  prcecelsissime 
Domine  et  Senator , I promise ! 0 sir,  Miles  et  Eques  of  the 

Garter,  Bath,  and  Golden  Fleece,  consider  your  dignities,  and 
my  old  age — and  my  great  family — nine  children — oh,  Sir 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


31 


CHAV.  II.] 

Richard,  and  eight  of  them  girls  ! — Do  eagles  war  with  mice  1 
says  the  ancient ! ” 

“ Thy  large  family,  eh  ? How  old  is  that  fat-witted  son  of 
thine  V 

“ Sixteen,  Sir  Richard ; but  that  is  not  his  fault,  indeed  !” 

“ Nay,  I suppose  he  would  be  still  sucking  his  thumb  if  he 
dared — get  up,  man — get  up  and  seat  yourself.” 

“ Heaven  forbid  ! ” murmured  poor  Vindex,  with  deep 
humility. 

“Why  is  not  the  rogue  at  Oxford,  with  a murrain  on  him, 
instead  of  lurching  about  here  carrying  tales,  and  ogling  the 
maidens'?” 

“ I had  hoped,  Sir  Richard — and  therefore  I said  it  was  not 
his  fault — but  there  was  never  a servitorship  at  Exeter  open.” 

“ Go  to,  man — go  to  ! I will  speak  to  my  brethren  of  the 
Trust,  and  to  Oxford  he  shall  go  this  autumn,  or  else  to  Exeter 
gaol,  for  a strong  rogue,  and  a masterless  man.  Do  you  hear  ?” 

“Hear? — oh,  sir,  yes  ! and  return  thanks.  Jack  shall  go, 
Sir  Richard,  doubt  it  not — I were  mad  else  ; and,  Sir  Richard, 
may  I go  too  ?” 

And  therewith  Vindex  vanished,  and  Sir  Richard  enjoyed  a 
second  mighty  laugh,  which  brought  in  Lady  Grenvile,  who 
possibly  had  overheard  the  whole ; for  the  first  words  she  said 
were — 

“ I think,  my  sweet  life,  we  had  better  go  up  to  Burrough.” 

So  to  Burrough  they  went  ; and  after  much  talk,  and  many 
tears,  matters  were  so  concluded  that  Amyas  Leigh  found  him- 
self riding  joyfully  towards  Plymouth,  by  the  side  of  Sir  Richard, 
and  being  handed  over  to  Captain  Drake,  vanished  for  three 
years  from  the  good  town  of  Bideford. 

And  now  he  is  returned  in  triumph,  and  the  observed  of  all 
observers ; and  looks  round  and  round,  and  sees  all  faces  whom 
he  expects,  except  one ; and  that  the  one  which  he  had  rather 
see  than  his  mother’s?  He  is  not  quite  sure.  Shame  on  himself! 

And  now  the  prayers  being  ended,  the  Rector  ascends  the 
pulpit,  and  begins  his  sermon  on  the  text : — 

“ The  heaven  and  the  heaven  of  heavens  are  the  Lord’s ; 
the  whole  earth  hath  he  given  to  the  children  of  men deduc- 
ing therefrom  craftily,  to  the  exceeding  pleasure  of  his  hearers, 
the  iniquity  of  the  Spaniards  in  dispossessing  the  Indians,  and 
in  arrogating  to  themselves  the  sovereignty  of  the  tropic  seas ; 
the  vanity  of  the  Pope  of  Rome  in  pretending  to  bestow  on 
them  the  new  countries  of  America;  and  the  justice,  valour, 


32 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[chap.  ii. 

and  glory  of  Mr.  Drake  and  his  expedition,  as  testified  by  God’s 
miraculous  protection  of  him  and  his,  both  in  the  Straits  of 
Magellan,  and  in  his  battle  with  the  Galleon ; and  last,  but 
not  least,  upon  the  rock  by  Celebes,  when  the  Pelican  lay  for 
hours  firmly  fixed,  and  was  floated  off  unhurt,  as  it  were  by 
miracle,  by  a sudden  shift  of  wind. 

Ay,  smile,  reader,  if  you  will;  and,  perhaps,  there  was 
matter  for  a smile  in  that  honest  sermon,  interlarded,  as  it  was, 
with  scraps  of  Greek  and  Hebrew,  which  no  one  understood, 
but  every  one  expected  as  their  right  (for  a preacher  was  nothing 
then  who  could  not  prove  himself  “a  good  Latiner”);  and 
graced,  moreover,  by  a somewhat  pedantic  and  lengthy  refuta- 
tion from  Scripture  of  Dan  Horace’s  cockney  horror  of  the  sea — 

“ Illi  robur  et  ses  triplex,”  etc., 

and  his  infidel  and  ungodly  slander  against  the  “ impias  rates,” 
and  their  crews. 

Smile,  if  you  will : but  those  were  days  (and  there  were 
never  less  superstitious  ones)  in  which  Englishmen  believed  in 
the  living  God,  and  were  not  ashamed  to  acknowledge,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  His  help  and  providence,  and  calling,  in  the 
matters  of  daily  life,  which  we  now  in  our  covert  Atheism  term 
“secular  and  carnal;”  and  when,  the  sermon  ended,  the  Com- 
munion Service  had  begun,  and  the  bread  and  the  wine  were 
given  to  those  five  mariners,  every  gallant  gentleman  who  stood 
near  them  (for  the  press  would  not  allow  of  more)  knelt  and 
received  the  elements  with  them  as  a thing  of  course,  and  then 
rose  to  join  with  heart  and  voice  not  merely  in  the  Gloria  in 
Excelsis , but  in  the  Te  Deum , which  was  the  closing  act  of  all. 
And  no  sooner  had  the  clerk  given  out  the  first  verse  of  that 
great  hymn,  than  it  was  taken  up  by  five  hundred  voices  within 
the  church,  in  bass  and  tenor,  treble  and  alto  (for  every  one 
could  sing  in  those  days,  and  the  west  country  folk,  as  now, 
were  fuller  than  any  of  music),  the  chaunt  was  caught  up  by 
the  crowd  outside,  and  rang  away  over  roof  and  river,  up  to  the 
woods  of  Annery,  and  down  to  the  marshes  of  the  Taw,  in  wave 
on  wave  of  harmony.  And  as  it  died  away,  the  shipping  in  the 
river  made  answer  with  their  thunder,  and  the  crowd  streamed 
out  again  toward  the  Bridge  Head,  whither  Sir  Richard  Gren- 
vile,  and  Sir  John  Chichester,  and  Mr.  Salterne,  the  Mayor,  led 
the  five  heroes  of  the  day  to  await  the  pageant  which  had  been 
prepared  in  honour  of  them.  And  as  they  went  by,  there  were 
few  in  the  crowd  who  did  not  press  forward  to  shake  them  by 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


33 


CHAP.  II.] 

the  hand,  and  not  only  them,  but  their  parents  and  kinsfolk 
who  walked  behind,  till  Mrs.  Leigh,  her  stately  joy  quite  broken 
down  at  last,  could  only  answer  between  her  sobs,  “ Go  along, 
good  people — God  a mercy,  go  along — and  God  send  you  all 
such  sons ! ” 

“God  give  me  back  mine  !”  cried  an  old  red-cloaked  dame 
in  the  crowd ; and  then,  struck  by  some  hidden  impulse,  she 
sprang  forward,  and  catching  hold  of  young  Amyas’s  sleeve — 

“ Kind  sir ! dear  sir  ! For  Christ  his  sake  answer  a poor 
old  widow  woman  !” 

“What  is  it,  dame?”  quoth  Amyas,  gently  enough. 

“ Did  you  see  my  son  to  the  Indies  ? — my  son  Salvation  ?” 
“Salvation?”  replied  he,  with  the  air  of  one  who  recollected 
the  name. 

“Yes,  sure,  Salvation  Yeo,  of  Clovelly.  A tall  man  and 
black,  and  sweareth  awfully  in  his  talk,  the  Lord  forgive  him!” 
Amyas  recollected  now.  It  was  the  name  of  the  sailor  who 
had  given  him  the  wondrous  horn  five  years  ago. 

“ My  good  dame,”  said  he,  “ the  Indies  are  a very  large 
place,  and  your  son  may  be  safe  and  sound  enough  there,  with- 
out my  having  seen  him.  I knew  one  Salvation  Yeo.  But  he 

must  have  come  with . By  the  by,  godfather,  has  Mr. 

Oxenham  come  home  ? ” 

There  was  a dead  silence  for  a moment  among  the  gentlemen 
round ; and  then  Sir  Richard  said  solemnly,  and  in  a low  voice, 
turning  away  from  the  old  dame, — 

“ Amyas,  Mr.  Oxenham  has  not  come  home ; and  from  the 
day  he  sailed,  no  word  has  been  heard  of  him  and  all  his  crew.” 
“ Oh,  Sir  Richard ! and  you  kept  me  from  sailing  with  him  ! 
Had  I known  this  before  I went  into  church,  I had  had  one 
mercy  more  to  thank  God  for.” 

“Thank  Him  all  the  more  in  thy  life,  my  child!”  whispered 
his  mother. 

“And  no  news  of  him  whatsoever?” 

“ None ; but  that  the  year  after  he  sailed,  a ship  belonging 
to  Andrew  Barker,  of  Bristol,  took  out  of  a Spanish  caravel, 
somewhere  off  the  Honduras,  his  two  brass  guns ; but  whence 
they  came  the  Spaniard  knew  not,  having  bought  them  at 
Nombre  de  Dios.” 

“Yes!”  cried  the  old  woman;  “they  brought  home  the 
guns  and  never  brought  home  my  boy !” 

“ They  never  saw  your  boy,  mother,”  said  Sir  Richard. 

“ But  I’ve  seen  him  ! I saw  him  in  a dream  four  years  last 
D 


34 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[CHAP.  II. 

Whitsuntide,  as  plain  as  I see  you  now,  gentles,  a-lying  upon  a 
rock,  calling  for  a drop  of  water  to  cool  his  tongue,  like  Dives  to 
the  torment ! Oh  ! dear  me  !”  and  the  old  dame  wept  bitterly. 

“ There  is  a rose  noble  for  you  !”  said  Mrs.  Leigh. 

“And  there  another!”  said  Sir  Richard.  And  in  a few 
minutes  four  or  five  gold  coins  were  in  her  hand.  But  the  old 
dame  did  but  look  wonderingly  at  the  gold  a moment,  and  then — 

“ Ah  ! dear  gentles,  God’s  blessing  on  you,  and  Mr.  Cary’s 
mighty  good  to  me  already  ; but  gold  won’t  buy  back  childer  ! 
0 ! young  gentleman  ! young  gentleman  ! make  me  a promise  ; 
if  you  want  God’s  blessing  on  you  this  day,  bring  me  back  my 
boy,  if  you  find  him  sailing  on  the  seas  ! Bring  him  back,  and 
an  old  widow’s  blessing  be  on  you  ! ” 

Amyas  promised — what  else  could  he  do  ? — and  the  group 
hurried  on ; but  the  lad’s  heart  was  heavy  in  the  midst  of  joy, 
with  the  thought  of  John  Oxenham,  as  he  walked  through  the 
churchyard,  and  down  the  short  street  which  led  between  the 
ancient  school  and  still  more  ancient  town-house,  to  the  head  of 
the  long  bridge,  across  which  the  pageant,  having  arranged  “east- 
the- water,”  was  to  defile,  and  then  turn  to  the  right  along  the 
quay. 

However,  he  was  bound  in  all  courtesy  to  turn  his  attention 
now  to  the  show  which  had  been  prepared  in  his  honour • and 
which  was  really  well  enough  worth  seeing  and  hearing.  The 
English  were,  in  those  days,  an  altogether  dramatic  people ) 
ready  and  able,  as  in  Bideford  that  day,  to  extemporise  a pageant, 
a masque,  or  any  effort  of  the  Thespian  art  short  of  the  regular 
drama.  For  they  were,  in  the  first  place,  even  down  to  the 
very  poorest,  a well-fed  people,  with  fewer  luxuries  than  we, 
but  more  abundant  necessaries ; and  while  beef,  ale,  and  good 
woollen  clothes  could  be  obtained  in  plenty,  without  overwork- 
ing either  body  or  soul,  men  had  time  to  amuse  themselves  in 
something  more  intellectual  than  mere  toping  in  pot-houses. 
Moreover,  the  half  century  after  the  Reformation  in  England 
was  one  not  merely  of  new  intellectual  freedom,  but  of  immense 
animal  good  spirits.  After  years  of  dumb  confusion  and  cruel 
persecution,  a breathing  time  had  come  : Mary  and  the  fires  of 
Smithfield  had  vanished  together  like  a hideous  dream,  and  the 
mighty  shout  of  joy  which  greeted  Elizabeth’s  entry  into  London, 
was  the  key-note  of  fifty  glorious  years ; the  expression  of  a 
new-found  strength  and  freedom,  which  vented  itself  at  home  in 
drama  and  in  song ; abroad  in  mighty  conquests,  achieved  with 
the  laughing  recklessness  of  boys  at  play. 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


35 


CHAP.  II.] 

So  first,  preceded  by  the  waits,  came  along  the  bridge 
toward  the  town-hall,  a device  prepared  by  the  good  rector,  who, 
standing  by,  acted  as  showman,  and  explained  anxiously  to  the 
bystanders  the  import  of  a certain  “ allegory”  wherein  on  a great 
banner  was  depicted  Queen  Elizabeth  herself,  who,  in  ample  ruff 
and  farthingale,  a Bible  in  one  hand  and  a sword  in  the  other, 
stood  triumphant  upon  the  necks  of  two  sufficiently  abject  per- 
sonages, whose  triple  tiara  and  imperial  crown  proclaimed  them 
the  Pope  and  the  King  of  Spain ; while  a label,  issuing  from 
her  royal  mouth,  informed  the  world  that — 

‘ { By  land  and  sea  a virgin  queen  I reign, 

And  spurn  to  dust  both  Antichrist  and  Spain.” 

Which,  having  been  received  with  due  applause,  a well-bedizened 
lad,  having  in  his  cap  as  a posy  “ Loyalty,”  stepped  forward, 
and  delivered  himself  of  the  following  verses  : — 

“ Oh,  great  Eliza  ! oh,  world-famous  crew  ! 

Which  shall  I hail  more  blest,  your  queen  or  you  ? 

While  without  other  either  falls  to  wrack, 

And  light  must  eyes,  or  eyes  their  light  must  lack. 

She  without  you,  a diamond  sunk  in  mine, 

Its  worth  unprized,  to  self  alone  must  shine ; 

You  without  her,  like  hands  bereft  of  head, 

Like  Ajax  rage,  by  blindfold  lust  misled. 

She  light,  you  eyes  ; she  head,  and  you  the  hands, 

In  fair  proportion  knit  by  heavenly  bands  ; 

Servants  in  queen,  and  queen  in  servants  blest ; 

Your  only  glory,  how  to  serve  her  best  , 

And  hers  how  best  the  adventurous  might  to  guide, 

Which  knows  no  check  of  foemen,  wind,  or  tide, 

So  fair  Eliza’s  spotless  fame  may  fly 
Triumphant  round  the  globe,  and  shake  th’  astounded  sky  ! ” 

With  which  sufficiently  bad  verses  Loyalty  passed  on,  while  my 
Lady  Bath  hinted  to  Sir  Richard,  not  without  reason,  that  the 
poet,  in  trying  to  exalt  both  parties,  had  very  sufficiently  snubbed 
both,  and  intimated,  that  it  was  “ hardly  safe  for  country  wits 
to  attempt  that  euphuistic,  antithetical,  and  delicately  conceited 
vein,  whose  proper  fountain  was  in  Whitehall.”  However,  on 
went  Loyalty,  very  well  pleased  with  himself,  and  next,  amid 
much  cheering,  two  great  tinsel  fish,  a salmon,  and  a trout, 
symbolical  of  the  wealth  of  Torridge,  waddled  along,  by  means 
of  two  human  legs  and  a staff  apiece,  which  protruded  from  the 
fishes’  stomachs.  They  drew  (or  seemed  to  draw,  for  half  the 
’prentices  in  the  town  were  shoving  it  behind,  and  cheering  on 
the  panting  monarchs  of  the  flood)  a car  wherein  sate,  amid 
reeds  and  river-flags,  three  or  four  pretty  girls  in  robes  of  grey- 


36 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[chap.  ii. 

''  blue  spangled  with  gold,  their  heads  wreathed  one  with  a crown 
of  the  sweet  bog-myrtle,  another  with  hops  and  white  convol- 
vulus, the  thi’d  with  pale  heather  and  golden  fern.  They 
stopped  opposite  Amyas ; and  she  of  the  myrtle  wreath,  rising 
and  bowing  to  him  and  the  company,  began  with  a pretty  blush 
to  say  her  say  : — 

“ Hither  from  my  moorland  home, 

Nymph  of  Torridge,  proud  I come ; 

Leaving  fen  and  furzy  brake, 

Haunt  of  eft  and  spotted  snake, 

Where  to  fill  mine  urns  I use, 

Daily  with  Atlantic  dews  ; 

While  beside  the  reedy  flood 
Wild  duck  leads  her  paddling  brood. 

For  this  morn,  as  Phoebus  gay 

Chased  through  heaven  the  night  mist  grey, 

Close  beside  me,  prankt  in  pride, 

Sister  Tamar  rose,  and  cried, 

* Sluggard,  up  ! ’Tis  holiday, 

In  the  lowlands  far  away. 

Hark  ! how  jocund  Plymouth  bells, 

Wandering  up  through  mazy  dells, 

Call  me  down,  with  smiles  to  hail, 

My  daring  Drake’s  returning  sail.’ 

* Thine  alone  V I answer’d.  ‘ Nay; 

Mine  as  well  the  joy  to-day. 

Heroes  train’d  on  Northern  wave, 

To  that  Argo  new  I gave ; 

Lent  to  thee,  they  roam’d  the  main ; 

Give  me,  nymph,  my  sons  again.’ 

‘ Go,  they  wait  Thee,’  Tamar  cried, 

Southward  bounding  from  my  side. 

Glad  I rose,  and  at  my  call, 

Came  my  Naiads,  one  and  all. 

Nursling  of  the  mountain  sky, 

Leaving  Dian’s  choir  on  high, 

Down  her  cataracts  laughing  loud, 

Ockment  leapt  from  crag  and  cloud, 

Leading  many  a nymph,  who  dwells 
Where  wild  deer  drink  in  ferny  dells ; 

While  the  Oreads  as  they  past 
Peep’d  from  Druid  Tors  aghast. 

By  alder  copses  sliding  slow, 

Knee-deep  in  flowers  came  gentler  Yeo 
And  paused  awhile  her  locks  to  twine 
With  musky  hops  and  white  woodbine. 

Then  joined  the  silver-footed  band, 

Which  circled  down  my  golden  sand, 

By  dappled  park,  and  harbour  shady, 

Haunt  of  love-lorn  knight  and  lady, 

My  thrice-renowned  sons  to  greet, 

With  rustic  song  and  pageant  meet. 


CHAP.  II.] 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


37 


For  joy  ! the  girdled  rohe  around 
Eliza’s  name  henceforth  shall  sound, 

Whose  venturous  fleets  to  conquest  start, 

Where  ended  once  the  seaman’s  chart, 

While  circling  Sol  his  steps  shall  count 
Henceforth  from  Thule’s  western  mount, 

And  lead  new  rulers  round  the  seas 
From  furthest  Cassiterides. 

For  found  is  now  the  golden  tree, 

Solv’d  th’  Atlantic  mystery, 

Pluck’d  the  dragon -guarded  fruit ; 

While  around  the  charmed  root, 

Wailing  loud,  the  Hesperids 
Watch  their  warder’s  drooping  lids. 

Low  he  lies  with  grisly  wound, 

While  the  sorceress  triple-crown’d 
In  her  scarlet  rohe  doth  shield  him, 

Till  her  cunning  spells  have  heal’d  him. 

Ye,  meanwhile,  around  the  earth 
Bear  the  prize  of  manful  worth. 

Yet  a nobler  meed  than  gold 
Waits  for  Albion’s  children  bold  ; 

Great  Eliza’s  virgin  hand 
Welcomes  you  to  Fairy-land, 

While  your  native  Naiads  bring 
Native  wreaths  as  offering. 

Simple  though  their  show  may  be, 

Britain’s  worship  in  them  see. 

’Tis  not  price,  nor  outward  fairness, 

Gives  the  victor’s  palm  its  rareness 
Simplest  tokens  can  impart 
Noble  throb  to  noble  heart : 

Grsecia,  prize  thy  parsley  crown, 

Boast  thy  laurel,  Caesar’s  town  ; 

Moorland  myrtle  still  shall  be 
Badge  of  Devon’s  Chivalry  !” 

And  so  ending,  she  took  the  wreath  of  fragrant  gale  from 
her  own  head,  and  stooping  from  the  car,  placed  it  on  the  head 
of  Amyas  Leigh,  who  made  answer — 

“ There  is  no  place  like  home,  my  fair  mistress ; and  no 
scent  to  my  taste  like  this  old  home -scent  in  all  the  spice- 
islands  that  I ever  sailed  by  ! ” 

“ Her  song  was  not  so  bad,”  said  Sir  Richard  to  Lady  Bath 
— “ but  how  came  she  to  hear  Plymouth  bells  at  Tamar-head, 
full  fifty  miles  away  ? That’s  too  much  of  a poet’s  licence,  is 
it  not  V’ 

“ The  river  nymphs,  as  daughters  of  Oceanus,  and  thus  of 
immortal  parentage,  are  bound  to  possess  organs  of  more  than 
mortal  keenness ; but,  as  you  say,  the  song  was  not  so  bad — 


38 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME. 


[chap.  ir. 


erudite,  as  well  as  prettily  conceived — and,  saving  for  a certain 
rustical  simplicity  and  monosyllabic  baldness,  smacks  rather  of 
the  forests  of  Castaly  than  those  of  Torridge.” 

So  spake  my  Lady  Bath ; whom  Sir  Richard  wisely  answered 
not ; for  she  was  a terribly  learned  member  of  the  college  of 
critics,  and  disputed  even  with  Sidney’s  sister  the  chieftaincy 
of  the  Euphuists  ; so  Sir  Richard  answered  not,  but  answer 
was  made  for  him. 

“ Since  the  whole  choir  of  Muses,  madam,  have  migrated  to 
the  Court  of  Whitehall,  no  wonder  if  some  dews  of  Parnassus 
should  fertilise  at  times  even  our  Devon  moors.” 

The  speaker  was  a tall  and  slim  young  man,  some  five-and- 
twenty  years  old,  of  so  rare  and  delicate  a beauty,  that  it  seemed 
that  some  Greek  statue,  or  rather  one  of  those  pensive  and  pious 
knights  whom  the  old  German  artists  took  delight  to  paint,  had 
condescended  to  tread  awhile  this  work-day  earth  in  living  flesh 
and  blood.  The  forehead  was  very  lofty  and  smooth,  the  eye- 
brows thin  and  greatly  arched  (the  envious  gallants  whispered 
that  something  at  least  of  their  curve  was  due  to  art,  as  was 
also  the  exceeding  smoothness  of  those  delicate  cheeks).  The 
face  was  somewhat  long  and  thin ; the  nose  aquiline ; and  the 
languid  mouth  showed,  perhaps,  too  much  of  the  ivory  upper 
teeth  ; but  the  most  striking  point  of  the  speaker’s  appearance 
was  the  extraordinary  brilliancy  of  his  complexion,  which 
shamed  with  its  whiteness  that  of  all  fair  ladies  round,  save 
where  open  on  each  cheek  a bright  red  spot  gave  warning,  as 
did  the  long  thin  neck  and  the  taper  hands,  of  sad  possibilities, 
perhaps  not  far  off ; possibilities  which  all  saw  with  an  inward 
sigh,  except  she  whose  doting  glances,  as  well  as  her  resemblance 
to  the  fair  youth,  proclaimed  her  at  once  his  mother,  Mrs.  Leigh 
herself. 

Master  Frank,  for  he  it  was,  was  dressed  in  the  very  extra- 
vagance of  the  fashion, — not  so  much  from  vanity,  as  from  that 
delicate  instinct  of  self-respect  which  would  keep  some  men 
spruce  and  spotless  from  one  year’s  end  to  another  upon  a desert 
island ; “ for,”  as  Frank  used  to  say  in  his  sententious  way, 
“ Mr.  Frank  Leigh  at  least  beholds  me,  though  none  else  be  by ; 
and  why  should  I be  more  discourteous  to  him  than  I permit 
others  to  be  ? Be  sure  that  he  who  is  a Grobian  in  his  own 
company,  will,  sooner  or  later,  become  a Grobian  in  that  of  his 
friends.” 

So  Mr.  Frank  was  arrayed  spotlessly  ; but  after  the  latest 
fashion  of  Milan,  not  in  trunk  hose  and  slashed  sleeves,  nor  in 


CHAP,  il]  THE  FIRST  TIME.  39 

“ French  standing  collar,  treble  quadruple  dsedalian  ruff,  or 
stiff-necked  rabato,  that  had  more  arches  for  pride,  propped  upi 
with  wire  and  timber,  than  five  London  Bridges  but  in  a close- 
fitting  and  perfectly  plain  suit  of  dove-colour,  which  set  off 
cunningly  the  delicate  proportions  of  his  figure,  and  the  delicate 
hue  of  his  complexion,  which  was  shaded  from  the  sun  by  a 
broad  dove-coloured  Spanish  hat,  with  feather  to  match,  looped 
up  over  the  right  ear  with  a pearl  brooch,  and  therein  a crowned 
E,  supposed  by  the  damsels  of  Bideford  to  stand  for  Elizabeth, 
which  was  whispered  to  be  the  gift  of  some  most  illustrious 
hand.  This  same  looping  up  was  not  without  good  reason  and 
purpose  prepense  ; thereby  all  the  world  had  full  view  of  a 
beautiful  little  ear,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  cut  of  cameo, 
and  made,  as  my  Lady  Rich  once  told  him,  “to  hearken  only 
to  the  music  of  the  spheres,  or  to  the  chants  of  cherubim/’ 
Behind  the  said  ear  was  stuck  a fresh  rose ; and  the  golden 
hair  was  all  drawn  smoothly  back  and  round  to  the  left  temple, 
whence,  tied  with  a pink  ribbon  in  a great  true  lover’s  knot,  a 
mighty  love-lock,  “ curled  as  it  had  been  laid  in  press,”  rolled 
down  low  upon  his  bosom.  Oh,  Frank  ! Frank  ! have  you 
come  out  on  purpose  to  break  the  hearts  of  all  Bideford  burghers’ 
daughters  ? And  if  so,  did  you  expect  to  further  that  triumph 
by  dyeing  that  pretty  little  pointed  beard  (with  shame  I report 
it)  of  a bright  vermilion  1 But  we  know  you  better,  Frank,  and 
so  does  your  mother ; and  you  are  but  a masquerading  angel 
after  all,  in  spite  of  your  knots  and  your  perfumes,  and  the  gold 
chain  round  your  neck  which  a German  princess  gave  you ; and 
the  emerald  ring  on  your  right  fore-finger  which  Hatton  gave 
you ; and  the  pair  of  perfumed  gloves  in  your  left  which 
Sidney’s  sister  gave  you;  and  the  silver-hilted  Toledo  which 
an  Italian  marquis  gave  you  on  a certain  occasion  of  which  you 
never  choose  to  talk,  like  a prudent  and  modest  gentleman  as 
you  are  ; but  of  which  the  gossips  talk,  of  course,  all  the  more, 
and  whisper  that  you  saved  his  life  from  bravoes — a dozen,  at 
the  least ; and  had  that  sword  for  your  reward,  and  might  have 
had  his  beautiful  sister’s  hand  beside,  and  I know  not  what  else ; 
but  that  you  had  so  many  lady-loves  already  that  you  were  loth 
to  burden  yourself  with  a fresh  one.  That,  at  least,  we  know 
to  be  a lie,  fair  Frank ; for  your  heart  is  as  pure  this  day  as 
when  you  knelt  in  your  little  crib  at  Burrough,  and  said — 

“ Four  corners  to  my  bed  ; 

Four  angels  round  my  head  ; 

Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John, 

Bless  the  bed  that  I lie  on.” 


40 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME. 


[chap.  ii. 

And  who  could  doubt  it  (if  being  pure  themselves,  they  have 
instinctive  sympathy  with  what  is  pure),  who  ever  looked  into 
those  great  deep  blue  eyes  of  yours,  “ the  black  fringed  curtains 
of  whose  azure  lids,”  usually  down-dropt  as  if  in  deepest  thought, 
you  raise  slowly,  almost  wonderingly  each  time  you  speak,  as  if 
awakening  from  some  fair  dream  whose  home  is  rather  in  your 
Platonical  “ eternal  world  of  supra-sensible  forms,”  than  on  that 
work-day  earth  wherein  you  nevertheless  acquit  yourself  so 
well  ? There — I must  stop  describing  you,  or  I shall  catch  the 
infection  of  your  own  Euphuism,  and  talk  of  you  as  you  would 
have  talked  of  Sidney  or  of  Spenser,  or  of  that  Swan  of  Avon, 

whose  song  had  just  begun  when  yours but  I will  not 

anticipate ; my  Lady  Bath  is  waiting  to  give  you  her  rejoinder. 

“ Ah,  my  silver-tongued  scholar  ! and  are  you,  then,  the 
poet  ? or  have  you  been  drawing  on  the  inexhaustible  bank  of 
your  friend  Raleigh,  or  my  cousin  Sidney?  or  has  our  new 
Cygnet  Immerito  lent  you  a few  unpublished  leaves  from  some 
fresh  Shepherd’s  Calendar?” 

“ Had  either,  madam,  of  that  cynosural  triad  been  within 
call  of  my  most  humble  importunities,  your  ears  had  been  de- 
legate with  far  nobler  melody.” 

“ But  not  our  eyes  with  fairer  faces,  eh  ? Well,  you  have 
chosen  your  nymphs,  and  had  good  store  from  whence  to  pick,  I 
doubt  not.  Few  young  Dulcinas  round  but  must  have  been 
glad  to  take  service  under  so  renowned  a captain  ?” 

“ The  only  difficulty,  gracious  Countess,  has  been  to  know 
where  to  fix  the  wandering  choice  of  my  bewildered  eyes,  where 
all  alike  are  fair,  and  all  alike  facund.” 

“We  understand,”  said  she,  smiling; — 

“ Dan  Cupid,  choosing  ’midst  his  mother’s  graces, 

Himself  more  fair,  made  scorn  of  fairest  faces.” 

The  young  scholar  capped  her  distich  forthwith,  and  bowing 
to  her  with  a meaning  look, 

“ ‘ Then,  Goddess,  turn,’  he  cried,  ‘and  veil  thy  light  ; 

Blinded  by  thine,  what  eyes  can  choose  aright  ?’  ” 

“ Go,  saucy  sir,”  said  my  lady,  in  high  glee  : “ the  pageant 
stays  your  supreme  pleasure.” 

And  away  went  Mr.  Frank  as  master  of  the  revels,  to  bring 
up  the  ’prentices’  pageant ; while,  for  his  sake,  the  nymph  of 
Torridge  was  forgotten  for  awhile  by  all  young  dames,  and  most 
young  gentlemen  : and  his  mother  heaved  a deep  sigh,  which 
Lady  Bath  overhearing — 

“What?  in  the  dumps,  good  madam,  while  all  are  rejoic- 


Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


CHAP.  II. j THE  FIRST  TIME.  41 

ing  in  your  joy*?  Are  you  afraid  that  we  court -dames  shall 
turn  your  young  Adonis’  brain  for  him '?” 

“ I do,  indeed,  fear  lest  your  condescension  should  make 
him  forget  that  he  is  only  a poor  squire’s  orphan.” 

“ I will  warrant  him  never  to  forget  aught  that  he  should 
recollect,”  said  my  Lady  Bath. 

And  she  spoke  truly.  But  soon  Frank’s  silver  voice  was 
heard  calling  out — 

“Room  there,  good  people,  for  the  gallant  ’prentice  lads  !” 
And  on  they  came,  headed  by  a giant  of  buckram  and 
pasteboard  armour,  forth  of  whose  stomach  looked,  like  a 
clock-face  in  a steeple,  a human  visage,  to  be  greeted,  as  was  the 
fashion  then,  by  a volley  of  quips  and  puns  from  high  and  low. 

Young  Mr.  William  Cary,  of  Clovelly,  who  was  the  wit  of 
those  parts,  opened  the  fire  by  asking  him  whether  he  were 
Goliath,  Gogmagog,  or  Grantorto  in  the  romance ; for  giants’ 
names  always  began  with  a G.  To  which  the  giant’s  stomach 
answered  pretty  surlily, — 

“ Mine  don’t ; I begin  with  an  0.” 

“Then  thou  criest  out  before  thou  art  hurt,  0 cowardly 
giant ! ” 

“ Let  me  out,  lads,”  quoth  the  irascible  visage,  struggling 
in  his  buckram  prison,  “and  I soon  show  him  whether  I be  a 
coward.” 

“Nay,  if  thou  gettest  out  of  thyself,  thou  wouldst  be  beside 
thyself,  and  so  wert  but  a mad  giant.” 

“ And  that  were  pity,”  said  Lady  Bath ; “ for  by  the 
romances,  giants  have  never  overmuch  wit  to  spare.” 

“ Mercy,  dear  Lady  !”  said  Frank,  “ and  let  the  giant  begin 
with  an  0.” 

“A ” 

“ A false  start,  giant  ! you  were  to  begin  with  an  0.” 

“I’ll  make  you  end  with  an  0,  Mr.  William  Cary  !”  roared 
the  testy  tower  of  buckram. 

“ And  so  I do,  for  I end  with  4 Fico  !’  ” 

“ Be  mollified,  sweet  giant,”  said  Frank,  “ and  spare  the 
rash  youth  of  yon  foolish  Knight.  Shall  elephants  catch  flies, 
or  Hurlo-Thrumbo  stain  his  club  with  brains  of  Dagonet  the 
jester1?  Be  mollified;  leave  thy  caverned  grumblings,  like  Etna 
when  its  windy  wrath  is  past,  and  discourse  eloquence  from  thy 
central  omphalos,  like  Pythoness  ventriloquising.” 

“ If  you  do  begin  laughing  at  me  too,  Mr.  Leigh- 
the  giant’s  clock-face,  in  a piteous  tone. 


said 


42 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[CHAP.  II. 

“ I laugh  not.  Art  thou  not  Ordulf  the  earl,  and  I thy 
humblest  squire  ? Speak  up,  my  Lord  ; your  cousin,  my  Lady 
Bath,  commands  you.” 

And  at  last  the  giant  began 

“ A giant  I,  Earl  Ordulf  men  me  call, — 

’Gainst  Paynim  foes  Devonia’s  champion  tall ; 

In  single  fight  six  thousand  Turks  I slew  ; 

Pull’d  off  a lion’s  head,  and  ate  it  too  : 

With  one  shrewd  blow,  to  let  Saint  Edward  in, 

I smote  the  gates  of  Exeter  in  twain  ; 

Till  aged  grown,  by  angels  warn’d  in  dream, 

I built  an  abbey  fair  by  Tavy  stream. 

But  treacherous  time  hath  tripped  my  glories  up, 

The  staunch  old  hound  must  yield  to  stauncher  pup  ; 

Here’s  one  so  tall  as  I,  and  twice  so  bold, 

Where  I took  only  cuffs,  takes  good  red  gold. 

From  pole  to  pole  resound  his  wondrous  works, 

Who  slew  more  Spaniards  than  I ere  slew  Turks  ; 

I strode  across  the  Tavy  stream  : but  he 

Strode  round  the  world  and  back  ; and  here  ’a  be  ! ” 

“ Oh,  bathos !”  said  Lady  Bath,  while  the  ’prentices  shouted 
applause.  “ Is  this  hedgebantling  to  be  fathered  on  you,  Mr. 
Frank?” 

“ It  is  necessary,  by  all  laws  of  the  drama,  Madam,”  said 
Frank,  with  a sly  smile,  “ that  the  speech  and  the  speaker  shall 
fit  each  other.  Pass  on,  Earl  Ordulf  ; a more  learned  worthy 
waits.” 

Whereon,  up  came  a fresh  member  of  the  procession;  namely, 
no  less  a person  than  Yindex  Brimblecombe,  the  ancient  school- 
master, with  five-and-forty  boys  at  his  heels,  who  halting,  pulled 
out  his  spectacles,  and  thus  signified  his  forgiveness  of  his 
whilome  broken  head  : — 

“ That  the  world  should  have  been  circumnavigated,  ladies 
and  gentles,  were  matter  enough  of  jubilation  to  the  student  of 

Herodotus  and  Plato,  Plinius  and ahem  ! much  more  when 

the  circumnavigators  are  Britons ; more,  again,  when  Dam- 
nonians.” 

“ Don’t  swear,  master,”  said  young  Will  Cary. 

“Gulielme  Cary,  Gulielme  Cary,  hast  thou  forgotten  thy ” 

“ Whippings  ? Never,  old  lad  ! Go  on  ; but  let  not  the 
licence  of  the  scholar  overtop  the  modesty  of  the  Christian.” 

“ More  again,  as  I said,  when,  incoloe , inhabitants  of  Devon; 
but,  most  of  all,  men  of  Bideford  School.  Oh  renowned  school! 
Oh  schoolboys  ennobled  by  fellowship  with  him  ! Oh  most 
happy  pedagogue,  to  whom  it  has  befallen  to  have  chastised  a 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


43 


CHAP.  II.] 

circumnavigator,  and,  like  another  Chiron,  trained  another 
Hercules  : yet  more  than  Hercules,  for  he  placed  his  pillars  on 

the  ocean  shore,  and  then  returned ; but  my  scholar’s  voyage ” 

“ Hark  how  the  old  fox  is  praising  himself  all  along  on  the 
sly,”  said  Cary. 

“ Mr.  William,  Mr.  William,  peace ; — silentium , my  grace- 
less pupil.  Urge  the  foaming  steed,  and  strike  terror  into  the 
rapid  stag,  but  meddle  not  with  matters  too  high  for  thee.” 

“ He  has  given  you  the  dor  now,  sir,”  said  Lady  Bath  ; 
“ let  the  old  man  say  his  say.” 

“ I bring,  therefore,  as  my  small  contribution  to  this  day’s 

feast ; first  a Latin  epigram,  as  thus ” 

“ Latin  ] Let  us  hear  it  forthwith,”  cried  my  Lady 
And  the  old  pedant  mouthed  out, — 

“ Torriguiam  Tamaris  ne  spernat ; Leighius  addet 
Mox  terras  terris,  inclyte  Drake,  tuis.” 

“Neat,  i’  faith,  la!”  Whereon  all  the  rest,  as  in  duty 
bound,  approved  also. 

“ This  for  the  erudite : for  vulgar  ears  the  vernacular  is 
more  consonant,  sympathetic,  instructive  ; as  thus  : — - 

“ Famed  Argo  ship,  that  noble  chip,  by  doughty  Jason’s  steering, 

Brought  back  to  Greece  the  golden  fleece,  from  Colchis  home  careering ; 
But  now  her  fame  is  put  to  shame,  while  new  Devonian  Argo, 

Round  earth  doth  run  in  wake  of  sun,  and  brings  a wealthier  cargo.” 

“ Runs  with  a right  fa-lal  la,”  observed  Cary  ; “ and  would 
go  nobly  to  a fiddle  and  a big  drum.” 

“ Ye  Spaniards,  quake  ! our  doughty  Drake  a royal  swan  is  tested, 

On  wing  and  oar,  from  shore  to  shore,  the  raging  main  who  breasted : — 
But  never  needs  to  chant  his  deeds,  like  swan  that  lies  a-dying, 

So  far  his  name  by  trump  of  fame,  around  the  sphere  is  flying.” 

“ Hillo  ho  ! schoolmaster  !”  shouted  a voice  from  behind  ; 
“move  on,  and  make  way  for  father  Neptune!”  Whereon  a 
whole  storm  of  raillery  fell  upon  the  hapless  pedagogue. 

“We  waited  for  the  parson’s  alligator,  but  we  wain’t  for 
your’n.” 

“Allegory!  my  children,  allegory!”  shrieked  the  man  of 
letters. 

“ What  do  ye  call  he  an  alligator  for  ? He  is  but  a poor 
little  starved  evat !” 

“ Out  of  the  road,  Old  Custis  ! March  on,  Don  Palmado  !” 
These  allusions  to  the  usual  instrument  of  torture  in  west 


44  HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME  [chap.  II. 

country  schools  made  the  old  gentleman  wince ; especially  when 
they  were  followed  home  by — 

“ Who  stole  Admiral  Grenvile’s  brooms,  because  birch  rods 
were  dear  V' 

But  proudly  he  shook  his  bald  head,  as  a bull  shakes  off  the 
flies,  and  returned  to  the  charge  once  more. 

“ Great  Alexander,  famed  commander,  wept  and  made  a pother, 

At  conquering  only  half  the  world,  but  Drake  had  conquer’d  t’other ; 
And  Hercules  to  brink  of  seas  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! 55 

And  clapping  both  hands  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  the  school- 
master began  dancing  frantically  about,  while  his  boys  broke 
out  tittering,  “ 0 ! the  ochidore ! look  to  the  blue  ochidore ! 
Who’ve  put  ochidore  to  maister’s  poll ! ” 

It  was  too  true : neatly  inserted,  as  he  stooped  forward, 
between  his  neck  and  his  collar,  was  a large  live  shore-crab, 
holding  on  tight  with  both  hands. 

“ Gentles  ! good  Christians  ! save  me  ! I am  mare-rode  ! 
Incubo , vel  ab  incubo,  opprimor  ! Satanas  has  me  by  the  poll! 
Help  ! he  tears  my  jugular  ; he  wrings  my  neck,  as  he  does  to 
Dr.  Faustus  in  the  play.  Conjiteor ! — I confess!  Satan,  I 
defy  thee!  Good  people,  I confess ! Ba<ravi£o/xcu ! The  truth 
will  out.  Mr.  Francis  Leigh  wrote  the  epigram  !”  And  diving 
through  the  crowd,  the  pedagogue  vanished  howling,  while 
Father  Neptune,  crowned  with  sea-weeds,  a trident  in  one  hand, 
and  a live  dog-fish  in  the  other,  swaggered  up  the  street  sur- 
rounded by  a tall  bodyguard  of  mariners,  and  followed  by  a 
great  banner,  on  which  was  depicted  a globe,  with  Drake’s  ship 
sailing  thereon  upside  down,  and  overwritten— 

“ See  every  man  the  Pelican, 

Which  round  the  world  did  go, 

While  her  stern-post  was  uppermost, 

And  topmasts  down  below. 

And  by  the  way  she  lost  a day, 

Out  of  her  log  was  stole  : 

But  Neptune  kind,  with  favouring  wind, 

Hath  brought  her  safe  and  whole.” 

“ Now,  lads  !”  cried  Neptune  ; “ hand  me  my  parable  that’s 
Writ  for  me,  and  here  goeth  ! ” And  at  the  top  of  his  bull-voice, 
he  began  roaring, — 

“ I am  King  Neptune  bold, 

The  ruler  of  the  seas; 

I don’t  understand  much  singing  upon  land, 

But  I hope  what  I say  will  please. 


CHAP.  II.] 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


45 


“ Here  be  five  Bideford  men, 

Which  have  sail’d  the  world  around, 

And  I watch’d  them  well,  as  they  all  can  tell, 

And  brought  them  home  safe  and  sound. 

“ For  it  is  the  men  of  Devon. 

To  see  them  I take  delight. 

Both  to  tack  and  to  hull,  and  to  heave  and  to  pull, 

And  to  prove  themselves  in  fight. 

“ Where  be  those  Spaniards  proud, 

That  make  their  valiant  boasts  ; 

And  think  for  to  keep  the  poor  Indians  for  their  sheep, 
And  to  farm  my  golden  coasts  ? 

“ ’Twas  the  devil  and  the  Pope  gave  them 
My  kingdom  for  their  own  : 

But  my  nephew  Francis  Drake,  he  caused  them  to  quake, 
And  he  pick’d  them  to  the  bone. 

1 ‘ For  the  sea  my  realm  it  is, 

As  good  Queen  Bess’s  is  the  land  ; 

So  freely  come  again,  all  merry  Devon  men, 

And  there’s  old  Neptune’s  hand.” 


“ Holla,  boys  ! holla  ! Blow  up,  Triton,  and  bring  forward 
the  freedom  of  the  seas.” 

Triton,  roaring  through  a conch,  brought  forward  a cockle- 
shell full  of  salt-water,  and  delivered  it  solemnly  to  Amyas, 
who,  of  course,  put  a noble  into  it,  and  returned  it  after  Gren- 
vile  had  done  the  same. 

“ Holla,  Dick  Admiral !”  cried  Neptune,  who  was  pretty  far 
gone  in  liquor ; “we  knew  thou  hadst  a right  English  heart 
in  thee,  for  all  thou  standest  there  as  taut  as  a Don  who 
has  swallowed  his  rapier.” 

“ Grammercy,  stop  thy  bellowing,  fellow,  and  on ; for  thou 
smellest  vilely  of  fish.” 

“ Everything  smells  sweet  in  its  right  place.  I’m  going  home.” 

“ I thought  thou  wert  there  all  along,  being  already  half- 
seas over,”  said  Cary. 

“ Ay,  right  Upsee-Dutch  ; and  that’s  more  than  thou  ever 
wilt  be,  thou  ’long-shore  stay-at-home.  Why  wast  making 
sheep’s  eyes  at  Mistress  Salterne  here,  while  my  pretty  little 
chuck  of  Burrough  there  was  playing  at  shove-groat  with  Span- 
ish doubloons 

“Go  to  the  devil,  sirrah  !”  said  Cary.  Neptune  had  touched 
on  a sore  subject ; and  more  cheeks  than  Amyas  Leigh’s  red- 
dened at  the  hint. 


46 


HOW  AMYAS  CAME  HOME 


[chap.  ii. 


“Amen,  if  Heaven  so  please  !”  and  on  rolled  the  monarch 
of  the  se&s  ; and  so  the  pageant  ended. 

The  moment  Amyas  had  an  opportunity,  he  asked  his  brother 
Frank,  somewhat  peevishly,  where  Rose  Salterne  was. 

“What ! the  mayor’s  daughter?  With  her  uncle  by  Kilk- 
hampton,  I believe.” 

Now  cunning  Master  Frank,  whose  daily  wish  was  to  “seek 
peace  and  ensue  it,”  told  Amyas  this,  because  he  must  needs 
speak  the  truth : but  he  was  purposed  at  the  same  time  to  speak 
as  little  truth  as  he  could,  for  fear  of  accidents ; and,  therefore, 
omitted  to  tell  his  brother  how  that  he,  two  days  before,  had 
entreated  Rose  Salterne  herself  to  appear  as  the  nymph  of  Tor- 
ridge  ; which  honour  she,  who  had  no  objection  either  to  ex- 
hibit her  pretty  face,  to  recite  pretty  poetry,  or  to  be  trained 
thereto  by  the  cynosure  of  North  Devon,  would  have  assented 
willingly,  but  that  her  father  stopped  the  pretty  project  by  a 
peremptory  countermove,  and  packed  her  off,  in  spite  of  her  tears, 
to  the  said  uncle  on  the  Atlantic  cliffs ; after  which  he  went  up 
to  Burrough,  and  laughed  over  the  whole  matter  with  Mrs.  Leigh. 

“ I am  but  a burgher,  Mrs.  Leigh,  and  you  a lady  of  blood; 
but  I am  too  proud  to  let  any  man  say  that  Simon  Salterne 
threw  his  daughter  at  your  son’s  head ; — no  ; not  if  you  were 
an  empress  !” 

“ And  to  speak  truth,  Mr.  Salterne,  there  are  young  gallants 
enough  in  the  country  quarrelling  about  her  pretty  face  every 
day,  without  making  her  a tourney-queen  to  tilt  about.” 

Which  was  very  true ; for  during  the  three  years  of  Amyas’s 
absence,  Rose  Salterne  had  grown  into  so  beautiful  a girl  of 
eighteen,  that  half  North  Devon  was  mad  about  the  “ Rose  of 
Torrid ge,”  as  she  was  called  ; and  there  was  not  a young  gallant 
for  ten  miles  round  (not  to  speak  of  her  father’s  clerks  and 
’prentices,  who  moped  about  after  her  like  so  many  Malvolios, 
and  treasured  up  the  very  parings  of  her  nails)  who  would  not 
have  gone  to  Jerusalem  to  win  her.  So  that  all  along  the  vales 
of  Torridge  and  of  Taw,  and  even  away  to  Clovelly  (for  young 
Mr.  Cary  was  one  of  the  sick),  not  a gay  bachelor  but  was 
frowning  on  his  fellows,  and  vieing  with  them  in  the  fashion  of 
his  clothes,  the  set  of  his  ruffs,  the  harness  of  his  horse,  the 
carriage  of  his  hawks,  the  pattern  of  his  sword-hilt ; and  those 
were  golden  days  for  all  tailors  and  armourers,  from  Exmoor  to 
Okehampton  town.  But  of  all  those  foolish  young  lads  not  one 
would  speak  to  the  other,  either  out  hunting,  or  at  the  archery 
butts,  or  in  the  tilt-yard  ; and  my  Lady  Bath  (who  confessed 


THE  FIRST  TIME. 


47 


CHAP.  II.] 

that  there  was  no  use  in  bringing  out  her  daughters  where 
Rose  Salterne  was  in  the  way)  prophesied  in  her  classical 
fashion  that  Rose’s  wedding  bid  fair  to  be  a very  bridal  of 
Atalanta,  and  feast  of  the  Lapithse  ; and  poor  Mr.  Will  Cary 
(who  always  blurted  out  the  truth),  when  old  Salterne  once 
asked  him  angrily  in  Bideford  Market,  “What  a plague  business 
had  he  making  sheep’s  eyes  at  his  daughter  1”  broke  out  before 
all  bystanders,  “ And  what  a plague  business  had  you,  old  boy, 
to  throw  such  an  apple  of  discord  into  our  merry  meetings  here- 
abouts h If  you  choose  to  have  such  a daughter,  you  must  take 
the  consequences,  and  be  hanged  to  you.”  To  which  Mr. 
Salterne  answered  with  some  truth,  “ That  she  was  none  of  his 
choosing,  nor  of  Mr.  Cary’s  neither.”  And  so  the  dor  being 
given,  the  belligerents  parted  laughing,  but  the  war  remained 
in  statu  quo ; and  not  a week  passed  but,  by  mysterious  hands, 
some  nosegay,  or  languishing  sonnet,  was  conveyed  into  The 
Rose’s  chamber,  all  which  she  stowed  away,  with  the  simplicity 
of  a country  girl,  finding  it  mighty  pleasant ; and  took  all  com- 
pliments quietly  enough,  probably  because,  on  the  authority  of 
her  mirror,  she  considered  them  no  more  than  her  due. 

And  now,  to  add  to  the  general  confusion,  home  was  come 
young  Amyas  Leigh,  more  desperately  in  love  with  her  than 
ever.  For,  as  is  the  way  with  sailors  (who  after  all  are  the 
truest  lovers,  as  they  are  the  finest  fellows,  God  bless  them, 
upon  earth),  his  lonely  ship-watches  had  been  spent  in  imprint- 
ing on  his  imagination,  month  after  month,  year  after  year, 
every  feature  and  gesture  and  tone  of  the  fair  lass  whom  he  had 
left  behind  him ; and  that  all  the  more  intensely,  because,  be- 
side his  mother,  he  had  no  one  else  to  think  of,  and  was  as  pure 
as  the  day  he  was  born,  having  been  trained  as  many  a brave 
young  man  was  then,  to  look  upon  profligacy  not  as  a proof  of 
manhood,  but  as  what  the  old  Germans,  and  those  Gortyneans 
who  crowned  the  offender  with  wool,  knew  it  to  be,  a cowardly 
and  effeminate  sin. 


48 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[chap.  hi. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  WALES,  AND  HOW  THEY  HUNTED 
WITH  THE  HOUNDS,  AND  YET  RAN  WITH  THE  DEER. 

“I  know  that  Deformed;  he  has  been  a vile  thief  this  seven  year;  he  goes 
up  and  down  like  a gentleman  : I remember  his  name.” — Much  Ado 
about  Nothing. 

Amyas  slept  that  night  a tired  and  yet  a troubled  sleep ; and 
his  mother  and  Frank,  as  they  bent  over  his  pillow,  could  see 
that  his  brain  was  busy  with  many  dreams. 

And  no  wonder;  for  over  and  above  all  the  excitement  of  the 
day,  the  recollection  of  JohnOxenham  had  taken  strange  possession 
of  his  mind;  and  all  that  evening,  as  he  sat  in  the  bay- windowed 
room  where  he  had  seen  him  last,  Amyas  was  recalling  to  him- 
self every  look  and  gesture  of  the  lost  adventurer,  and  wonder- 
ing at  himself  for  so  doing,  till  he  retired  to  sleep,  only  to  renew 
the  fancy  in  his  dreams.  At  last  he  found  himself,  he  knew 
not  how,  sailing  westward  ever,  up  the  wake  of  the  setting  sun, 
in  chase  of  a tiny  sail  which  was  John  Oxenham’s.  Upon  him 
was  a painful  sense  that,  unless  he  came  up  with  her  in  time, 
something  fearful  would  come  to  pass  : but  the  ship  would  not 
sail.  All  around  floated  the  sargasso  beds,  clogging  her  bows 
with  their  long  snaky  coils  of  weed  ; and  still  he  tried  to  sail, 
and  tried  to  fancy  that  he  was  sailing,  till  the  sun  went  down 
and  all  was  utter  dark.  And  then  the  moon  arose,  and  in  a 
moment  John  Oxenham’s  ship  was  close  aboard ; her  sails  were 
torn  and  fluttering  ; the  pitch  was  streaming  from  her  sides ; 
her  bulwarks  were  rotting  to  decay.  And  what  was  that  line 
of  dark  objects  dangling  along  the  mainyard  ? — A line  of  hanged 
men  ! And,  horror  of  horrors,  from  the  yard-arm  close  above 
him,  John  Oxenham’s  corpse  looked  down  with  grave-light  eyes, 
and  beckoned  and  pointed,  as  if  to  show  him  his  way,  and  strove 
to  speak,  and  could  not,  and  pointed  still,  not  forward,  but  back 
along  their  course.  And  when  Amyas  looked  back,  behold,  behind 
him  was  the  snow  range  of  the  Andes  glittering  in  the  moon,  and 
he  knew  that  he  was  in  the  South  Seas  once  more,  and  that  all 
America  was  between  him  and  home.  And  still  the  corpse  kept 
pointing  back,  and  back,  and  looking  at  him  with  yearning  eyes 
of  agony,  and  lips  which  longed  to  tell  some  awful  secret ; till 
he  sprang  up,  and  woke  with  a shout  of  terror,  and  found  him- 


CHAP.  III.]  OF  WALES.  49 

self  lying  in  the  little  coved  chamber  in  dear  old  Burrough, 
with  the  grey  autumn  morning  already  stealing  in. 

Feverish  and  excited,  he  tried  in  vain  to  sleep  again ; and 
after  an  hour’s  tossing,  rose  and  dressed,  and  started  for  a bathe 
on  his  beloved  old  pebble  ridge.  As  he  passed  his  mother’s 
door,  he  could  not  help  looking  in.  The  dim  light  of  morning 
showed  him  the  bed ; but  its  pillow  had  not  been  pressed  that 
night.  His  mother,  in  her  long  white  night-dress,  was  kneeling 
at  the  other  end  of  the  chamber  at  her  prie-dieu,  absorbed  in 
devotion.  Gently  he  slipped  in  without  a word,  and  knelt 
down  at  her  side.  She  turned,  smiled,  passed  her  arm  around 
him,  and  went  on  silently  with  her  prayers.  Why  not  1 They 
were  for  him,  and  he  knew  it,  and  prayed  also ; and  his  prayers 
were  for  her,  and  for  poor  lost  John  Oxenham,  and  all  his 
vanished  crew. 

At  last  she  rose,  and  standing  above  him,  parted  the  yellow 
locks  from  off  his  brow,  and  looked  long  and  lovingly  into  his 
face.  There  was  nothing  to  be  spoken,  for  there  was  nothing 
to  be  concealed  between  these  two  souls  as  clear  as  glass.  Each 
knew  all  which  the  other  meant ; each  knew  that  its  own 
thoughts  were  known.  At  last  the  mutual  gaze  was  over ; she 
stooped  and  kissed  him  on  the  brow,  and  was  in  the  act  to  turn 
away,  as  a tear  dropped  on  his  forehead.  Her  little  bare  feet 
were  peeping  out  from  under  her  dress.  He  bent  down  and 
kissed  them  again  and  again ; and  then  looking  up,  as  if  to  ex- 
cuse himself, — 

“You  have  such  pretty  feet,  mother  !” 

Instantly,  with  a woman’s  instinct,  she  had  hidden  them. 
She  had  been  a beauty  once,  as  I said ; and  though  her  hair 
was  grey,  and  her  roses  had  faded  long  ago,  she  was  beautiful 
still,  in  all  eyes  which  saw  deeper  than  the  mere  outward  red 
and  white. 

“Your  dear  father  used  to  say  so  thirty  years  ago.” 

“And  I say  so  still:  you  always  were  beautiful;  you  are 
beautiful  now.” 

“ What  is  that  to  you,  silly  boy  1 Will  you  play  the  lover 
with  an  old  mother  ? Go  and  take  your  walk,  and  think  of 
younger  ladies,  if  you  can  find  any  worthy  of  you.” 

And  so  the  son  went  forth,  and  the  mother  returned  to  her 
prayers. 

He  walked  down  to  the  pebble  ridge,  where  the  surges  of 
the  bay  have  defeated  their  own  fury,  by  rolling  up  in  the  course 
of  ages  a rampart  of  grey  boulder-stones,  some  two  miles  long, 


50 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[CHAP.  III. 

as  cunningly  curved,  and  smoothed,  and  fitted,  as  if  the  work 
had  been  done  by  human  hands,  which  protects  from  the  high 
tides  of  spring  and  autumn  a fertile  sheet  of  smooth,  alluvial 
turf.  Sniffing  the  keen  salt  air  like  a young  sea-dog,  he  stripped 
and  plunged  into  the  breakers,  and  dived,  and  rolled,  and  tossed 
about  the  foam  with  stalwart  arms,  till  he  heard  himself  hailed 
from  off  the  shore,  and  looking  up,  saw  standing  on  the  top  of 
the  rampart  the  tall  figure  of  his  cousin  Eustace. 

Amyas  was  half-disappointed  at  his  coming ; for,  love-lorn 
rascal,  he  had  been  dreaming  all  the  way  thither  of  Rose  Sal- 
terne,  and  had  no  wish  for  a companion  who  would  prevent  his 
dreaming  of  her  all  the  way  back.  Nevertheless,  not  having 
seen  Eustace  for  three  years,  it  was  but  civil  to  scramble  out 
and  dress,  while  his  cousin  walked  up  and  down  upon  the  turf 
inside. 

Eustace  Leigh  was  the  son  of  a younger  brother  of  Leigh  of 
Burrough,  who  had  more  or  less  cut  himself  off  from  his  family, 
and  indeed  from  his  countrymen,  by  remaining  a Papist.  True, 
though  born  a Papist,  he  had  not  always  been  one ; for,  like 
many  of  the  gentry,  he  had  become  a Protestant  under  Edward 
the  Sixth,  and  then  a Papist  again  under  Mary.  But,  to  his 
honour  be  it  said,  at  that  point  he  had  stopped,  having  too 
much  honesty  to  turn  Protestant  a second  time,  as  hundreds  did, 
at  Elizabeth’s  accession.  So  a Papist  he  remained,  living  out 
of  the  way  of  the  world  in  a great,  rambling,  dark  house,  still 
called  “ Chapel,”  on  the  Atlantic  cliffs,  in  Moorwinstow  parish, 
not  far  from  Sir  Richard  Grenvile’s  house  of  Stow.  The  penal 
laws  never  troubled  him ; for,  in  the  first  place,  they  never 
troubled  any  one  who  did  not  make  conspiracy  and  rebellion  an 
integral  doctrine  of  his  religious  creed ; and  next,  they  seldom 
troubled  even  them,  unless,  fired  with  the  glory  of  martyrdom, 
they  bullied  the  long-suffering  of  Elizabeth  and  her  council  into 
giving  them  their  deserts,  and,  like  poor  Father  Southwell  in 
after  years,  insisted  on  being  hanged,  whether  Burleigh  liked  or 
not.  Moreover,  in  such  a no-man’s-land  and  end-of-all-the-earth 
was  that  old  house  at  Moorwinstow,  that  a dozen  conspiracies 
might  have  been  hatched  there  without  any  one  hearing  of  it ; 
and  Jesuits  and  seminary  priests  skulked  in  and  out  all  the  year 
round,  unquestioned  though  unblest;  and  found  a sort  of  piquant 
pleasure,  like  naughty  boys  who  have  crept  into  the  store-closet, 
in  living  in  mysterious  little  dens  in  a lonely  turret,  and  going 
up  through  a trap-door  to  celebrate  mass  in  a secret  chamber  in 
the  roof,  where  they  were  allowed  by  the  powers  that  were  to 


OF  WALES. 


51 


CHAP.  III.] 

play  as  much  as  they  chose  at  persecuted  saints,  and  preach 
about  hiding  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth.  For  once,  when 
the  zealous  parson  of  Moorwinstow,  having  discovered  (what 
everybody  knew  already)  the  existence  of  “mass  priests  and 
their  idolatry”  at  Chapel  House,  made  formal  complaint  thereof 
to  Sir  Richard,  and  called  on  him,  as  the  nearest  justice  of  the 
peace,  to  put  in  force  the  Act  of  the  fourteenth  of  Elizabeth, 
that  worthy  knight  only  rated  him  soundly  for  a fantastical 
Puritan,  and  bade  him  mind  his  own  business,  if  he  wished  not 
to  make  the  place  too  hot  for  him ; whereon  (for  the  temporal 
authorities,  happily  for  the  peace  of  England,  kept  in  those  days 
a somewhat  tight  hand  upon  the  spiritual  ones)  the  worthy 
parson  subsided, — for,  after  all,  Mr.  Thomas  Leigh  paid  his 
tithes  regularly  enough, — and  was  content,  as  he  expressed  it, 
to  bow  his  head  in  the  house  of  Rimmon  like  Naaman  of  old, 
by  eating  Mr.  Leigh’s  dinners  as  often  as  he  was  invited,  and 
ignoring  the  vocation  of  old  Father  Francis,  who  sat  opposite  to 
him,  dressed  as  a layman,  and  calling  himself  the  young  gentle- 
man’s pedagogue. 

But  the  said  birds  of  ill-omen  had  a very  considerable  lien 
on  the  conscience  of  poor  Mr.  Thomas  Leigh,  the  father  of 
Eustace,  in  the  form  of  certain  lands  once  belonging  to  the 
Abbey  of  Hartland.  He  more  than  half  believed  that  he  should 
be  lost  for  holding  those  lands;  but  he  did  not  believe  it  wholly, 
and,  therefore,  he  did  not  give  them  up ; which  was  the  case, 
as  poor  Mary  Tudor  found  to  her  sorrow,  with  most  of  her 
“ Catholic  ” subjects,  whose  consciences,  while  they  compelled 
them  to  return  to  the  only  safe  fold  of  Mother  Church  ( extrd, 
quam  nulla  salus),  by  no  means  compelled  them  to  disgorge  the 
wealth  of  which  they  had  plundered  that  only  hope  of  their  sal- 
vation. Most  of  them,  however,  like  poor  Tom  Leigh,  felt  the 
abbey  rents  burn  in  their  purses ; and,  as  J ohn  Bull  generally 
does  in  a difficulty,  compromised  the  matter  by  a second  folly 
(as  if  two  wrong  things  made  one  right  one),  and  petted  foreign 
priests,  and  listened,  or  pretended  not  to  listen,  to  their  plot- 
tings and  their  practisings ; and  gave  up  a son  here,  and  a son 
there,  as  a sort  of  a sin-offering  and  scapegoat,  to  be  carried  off 
to  Douay,  or  Rheims,  or  Rome,  and  trained  as  a seminary  priest; 
in  plain  English,  to  be  taught  the  science  of  villainy,  on  the 
motive  of  superstition.  One  of  such  hapless  scapegoats,  and 
children  who  had  been  cast  into  the  fire  to  Moloch,  was  Eustace 
Leigh,  whom  his  father  had  sent,  giving  the  fruit  of  his  body 
for  the  sin  of  his  soul,  to  be  made  a liar  of  at  Rheims. 


52 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[CHAP.  III. 

And  a very  fair  liar  he  had  become.  Not  that  the  lad  was 
a bad  fellow  at  heart ; but  he  had  been  chosen  by  the  harpies 
at  home,  on  account  of  his  “peculiar  vocation;”  in  plain  English, 
because  the  wily  priests  had  seen  in  him  certain  capacities  of 
vague  hysterical  fear  of  the  unseen  (the  religious  sentiment,  we 
call  it  now-a-days),  and  with  them  that  tendency  to  be  a rogue, 
wrhich  superstitious  men  always  have.  He  was  now  a tall, 
handsome,  light -complexioned  man,  with  a huge  upright  fore- 
head, a very  small  mouth,  and  a dry  and  set  expression  of  face, 
which  was  always  trying  to  get  free,  or  rather  to  seem  free,  and 
indulge  in  smiles  and  dimples  which  were  proper ; for  one  ought 
to  have  Christian  love,  and  if  one  had  love  one  ought  to  be 
cheerful,  and  when  people  were  cheerful  they  smiled  ; and  there- 
fore he  would  smile,  and  tried  to  do  so;  but  his  charity  prepense 
looked  no  more  alluring  than  malice  prepense  would  have  done; 
and,  had  he  not  been  really  a handsome  fellow,  many  a woman 
who  raved  about  his  sweetness  would  have  likened  his  frankness 
to  that  of  a skeleton  dancing  in  fetters,  and  his  smiles  to  the 
grins  thereof. 

He  had  returned  to  England  about  a month  before,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  proclamation  which  had  been  set  forth  for  that  pur- 
pose (and  certainly  not  before  it  was  needed),  that,  “whosoever 
had  children,  wards,  etc.,  in  the  parts  beyond  the  seas,  should 
send  in  their  names  to  the  ordinary,  and  within  four  months 
call  them  home  again.”  So  Eustace  was  now  staying  with  his 
father  at  Chapel,  having,  nevertheless,  his  private  matters  to 
transact  on  behalf  of  the  virtuous  society  by  whom  he  had  been 
brought  up ; one  of  which  private  matters  had  brought  him  to 
Bideford  the  night  before. 

So  he  sat  down  beside  Amyas  on  the  pebbles,  and  looked  at 
him  all  over  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  very  gently,  as  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  hurt  him,  or  even  the  flies  on  his  back ; and 
Amyas  faced  right  round,  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  with 
the  heartiest  of  smiles,  and  held  out  a lion’s  paw,  which  Eustace 
took  rapturously,  and  a great  shaking  of  hands  ensued  ; Amyas 
gripping  with  a great  round  fist,  and  a quiet  quiver  thereof,  as 
much  as  to  say,  “ I am  glad  to  see  you ;”  and  Eustace  pinching 
hard  with  quite  straight  fingers,  and  sawing  the  air  violently  up 
and  down,  as  much  as  to  say,  “ Don't  you  see  how  glad  I am  to 
see  you  V’  A very  different  greeting  from  the  former. 

“Hold  hard,  old  lad,”  said  Amyas,  “before  you  break  my 
elbow.  And  where  do  you  come  from  V* 

“ From  going  to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  and  from  walking  up 


OF  WALES. 


ciiap.  in.] 


53 


and  down  in  it,”  said  he,  with  a little  smile  and  nod  of  mys- 
terious self-importance. 

“Like  the  devil,  eh1?  Well,  every  man  has  his  pattern. 
How  is  my  uncle  ?” 

Now,  if  there  was  one  man  on  earth  above  another,  of  whom 
Eustace  Leigh  stood  in  dread,  it  was  his  cousin  Amyas.  In  the 
first  place,  he  knew  Amyas  could  have  killed  him  with  a blow ; 
and  there  are  natures,  who,  instead  of  rejoicing  in  the  strength 
of  men  of  greater  prowess  than  themselves,  look  at  such  with 
irritation,  dread,  at  last,  spite;  expecting,  perhaps,  that  the 
stronger  will  do  to  them  what  they  feel  they  might  have  done 
in  his  place.  Every  one,  perhaps,  has  the  same  envious, 
cowardly  devil  haunting  about  his  heart ; but  the  brave  men, 
though  they  be  very  sparrows,  kick  him  out ; the  cowards  keep 
him,  and  foster  him ; and  so  did  poor  Eustace  Leigh 

Next,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  Amyas  despised  him. 
They  had  not  met  for  three  years ; but  before  Amyas  went, 
Eustace  never  could  argue  with  him ; simply  because  Amyas 
treated  him  as  beneath  argument.  No  doubt  he  was  often  rude 
and  unfair  enough  ; but  the  whole  mass  of  questions  concerning 
the  unseen  world,  which  the  priests  had  stimulated  in  his 
cousin’s  mind  into  an  unhealthy  fungus  crop,  were  to  Amyas 
simply,  as  he  expressed  it,  “wind  and  moonshine;”  and  he 
treated  his  cousin  as  a sort  of  harmless  lunatic,  and,  as  they 
say  in  Devon,  “half-baked.”  And  Eustace  knew  it;  and 
knew,  too,  that  his  cousin  did  him  an  injustice.  “ He  used 
to  undervalue  me,”  said  he  to  himself ; “let  us  see  whether  he 
does  not  find  me  a match  for  him  now.”  And  then  went  off 
into  an  agony  of  secret  contrition  for  his  self-seeking  and  his 
forgetting  that  “ the  glory  of  God,  and  not  his  own  exaltation,” 
was  the  object  of  his  existence. 

There,  dear  readers,  Ex  pede  Herculem ; I cannot  tire 
myself  or  you  (especially  in  this  book)  with  any  wire-drawn 
soul-dissections.  I have  tried  to  hint  to  you  two  opposite  sorts 
of  men.  The  one  trying  to  be  good  with  all  his  might  and 
main,  according  to  certain  approved  methods  and  rules,  which 
he  has  got  by  heart ; and  like  a weak  oarsman,  feeling  and 
fingering  his  spiritual  muscles  over  all  day,  to  see  if  they  are 
growing.  The  other,  not  even  knowing  whether  he  is  good  or 
not,  but  just  doing  the  right  thing  without  thinking  about  it, 
as  simply  as  a little  child,  because  the  Spirit  of  God  is  with 
him.  If  you  cannot  see  the  great  gulf  fixed  between  the  two, 
I trust  that  you  will  discover  it  some  day. 


54 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[CHAP.  III. 


But  in  justice  be  it  said,  all  this  came  upon  Eustace,  not 
because  he  was  a Romanist,  but  because  he  was  educated  by 
the  Jesuits.  Had  he  been  saved  from  them,  he  might  have 
lived  and  died  as  simple  and  honest  a gentleman  as  his  brothers, 
who  turned  out  like  true  Englishmen  (as  did  all  the  Romish 
laity)  to  face  the  great  Armada,  and  one  of  whom  was  fighting 
at  that  very  minute  under  St.  Leger  in  Ireland,  and  as  brave 
and  loyal  a soldier  as  those  Roman  Catholics  whose  noble 
blood  has  stained  every  Crimsean  battle-field ; but  his  fate  was 
appointed  otherwise  ; and  the  Upas-shadow  which  has  blighted 
the  whole  Romish  Church,  blighted  him  also. 

“Ah,  my  dearest  cousin  !”  said  Eustace,  “ how  disappointed 
I was  this  morning  at  finding  I had  arrived  just  a day  too  late 
to  witness  yonr  triumph  ! But  I hastened  to  your  home  as 
soon  as  I could,  and  learning  from  your  mother  that  I should 
find  you  here,  hurried  down  to  bid  you  welcome  again  to  Devon.” 
“Well,  old  lad,  it  does  look  very  natural  to  see  you.  I 
often  used  to  think  of  you  walking  the  deck  o’  nights.  Uncle 
and  the  girls  are  all  right,  then  1 But  is  the  old  pony  dead 
yet  ? And  how’s  Dick  the  smith,  and  Nancy  ? Grown  a fine 
maid  by  now,  I warrant.  ’Slid,  it  seems  half  a life  that  I’ve 
been  away.” 

“And  you  really  thought  of  your  poor  cousin'?  Be  sure 
that  he,  too,  thought  of  you,  and  offered  up  nightly  his  weak 
prayers  for  your  safety  (doubtless,  not  without  avail)  to  those 

saints,  to  whom  would  that  you ” 

“ Halt  there,  coz.  If  they  are  half  as  good  fellows  as  you 
and  I take  them  for,  they’ll  help  me  without  asking.” 

“They  have  helped  you,  Amyas.” 

“ Maybe ; I’d  have  done  as  much,  I’m  sure,  for  them,  if 
I’d  been  in  their  place.” 

“ And  do  you  not  feel,  then,  that  you  owe  a debt  of  grati- 
tude to  them ; and,  above  all,  to  her,  whose  intercessions  have, 
I doubt  not,  availed  for  your  preservation  ? Her,  the  star  of 
the  sea,  the  all-compassionate  guide  of  the  mariner'?” 

“ Humph  !”  said  Amyas.  “ Here’s  Frank ; let  him  answer.” 
And,  as  he  spoke,  up  came  Frank,  and  after  due  greetings, 
sat  down  beside  them  on  the  ridge. 

“ I say,  brother,  here’s  Eustace  trying  already  to  convert 
me ; and  telling  me  that  I owe  all  my  luck  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin’s  prayers  for  me.” 

“ It  may  be  so,”  said  Frank ; “ at  least  you  owe  it  to  the 
prayers  of  that  most  pure  and  peerless  virgin,  by  whose  com- 


OF  WALES. 


55 


CHAP.  III.] 

mands  you  sailed ; the  sweet  incense  of  whose  orisons  have 
gone  up  for  you  daily,  and  for  whose  sake  you  were  preserved 
from  flood  and  foe,  ^liat  you  might  spread  the  fame  and  advance 
the  power  of  the  spotless  cliampioness  of  truth,  and  right,  and 
freedom, — Elizabeth,  your  queen.” 

Amyas  answered  this  rhapsody,  which  would  have  been  then 
both  fashionable  and  sincere,  by  a loyal  chuckle.  Eustace  smiled 
meekly  : but  answered  somewhat  venomously  nevertheless, 

“ I,  at  least,  am  certain  that  I speak  the  truth,  when  I call 
my  patroness  a virgin  undefiled.” 

Both  the  brothers’  brows  clouded  at  once.  Amyas,  as  he 
lay  on  his  back  on  the  pebbles,  said  quietly  to  the  gulls  over 
his  head, 

“ I wonder  what  the  Frenchman,  whose  head  I cut  off  at 
the  Azores,  thinks  by  now  about  all  that.” 

“Cut  off  a Frenchman’s  head  ?”  said  Frank. 

“Yes,  faith ; and  so  fleshed  my  maiden  sword.  I’ll  tell 
you.  It  was  in  some  tavern ; I and  George  Drake  had  gone 
in,  and  there  sat  this  Frenchman,  with  his  sword  on  the  table, 
ready  for  a quarrel  (I  found  afterwards  he  was  a noted  bully), 
and  begins  with  us  loudly  enough  about  this  and  that ; but, 
after  awhile,  by  the  instigation  of  the  devil,  what  does  he  vent 
but  a dozen  slanders  against  her  majesty’s  honour,  one  atop  of 
the  other.  I was  ashamed  to  hear  them,  and  I should  be  more 
ashamed  to  repeat  them.” 

“I  have  heard  enough  of  such,”  said  Frank.  “They  come 
mostly  through  lewd  rascals  about  the  French  ambassador,  who 
have  been  bred  (God  help  them)  among  the  filthy  vices  of  that 
Medicean  Court,  in  which  the  Queen  of  Scots  had  her  schooling ; 
and  can  only  perceive  in  a virtuous  freedom,  a cloke  for  licen- 
tiousness like  their  own.  Let  the  curs  bark  ; Honi  soit  qui 
mat  y pense  is  our  motto,  and  shall  be  for  ever.” 

“ But  I didn’t  let  the  cur  bark  ; for  I took  him  by  the  ears, 
to  show  him  out  into  the  street.  Whereon  he  got  to  his  sword, 
and  I to  mine ; and  a very  near  chance  I had  of  never  bathing 
on  the  pebble-ridge  more ; for  the  fellow  did  not  fight  with 
edge  and  buckler,  like  a Christian,  but  had  some  newfangled 
French  devil’s  device  of  scryming  and  foining  with  his  point, 
ha’ing  and  stamping,  and  tracing  at  me,  that  I expected  to  be 
full  of  eyelet  holes  ere  I could  close  with  him.” 

“Thank  God  that  you  are  safe,  then!”  said  Frank.  “I 
know  that  play  well  enough,  and  dangerous  enough  it  is.” 

“ Of  course  you  know  it ; but  I didn’t,  more’s  the  pity.” 


56  OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN  [CHAP.  nr. 

“Well,  I’ll  teach  it  thee,  lad,  as  well  as  Rowland  Yorke 
himself, 

‘ Thy  fincture,  carricade,  and  sly  passata, 

Thy  stramazon,  and  resolute  stoccata, 

Wiping  maudritta,  closing^enihrocata, 

And  all  the  cant  of  the  honourable  fencing  mystery.’” 

“ Rowland  Yorke  Who’s  he,  then 1” 

“ A very  roystering  rascal,  who  is  making  good  profit  in 
London  just  now  hy  teaching  this  very  art  of  fence ; and  is  as 
likely  to  have  his  mortal  thread ‘dipt  in  a tavern  brawl,  as  thy 
Frenchman.  But  how  did  you  escape  his  pinking  iron  ?” 

“ How  1 Had  it  through  my  left  arm  before  I could  look 
round ; and  at  that  I got  mad,  and  leapt  upon  him,  and  caught 
him  by  the  wrist,  and  then  had  a fair  side-blow ; and,  as  for- 
tune would  have  it,  off  tumbled  his  head  on  to  the  table,  and 
there  was  an  end  of  his  slanders.” 

“So  perish  all  her  enemies!”  said  Frank;  and  Eustace, 
who  had  been  trying  not  to  listen,  rose  and  said, 

“ I trust  that  you  do  not  number  me  among  them  ?” 

“As  you  speak,  I do,  coz,”  said  Frank.  “But  for  your 
own  sake,  let  me  advise  you  to  put  faith  in  the  true  report  of 
those  who  have  daily  experience  of  their  mistress’s  excellent 
virtue,  as  they  have  of  the  sun’s  shining,  and  of  the  earth’s 
bringing  forth  fruit,  and  not  in  the  tattle  of  a few  cowardly 
back-stair  rogues,  who  wish  to  curry  favour  with  the  Guises. 
Come,  we  will  say  no  more.  Walk  round  with  us  by  Apple- 
dore,  and  then  home  to  breakfast.” 

But  Eustace  declined,  having  immediate  business,  he  said, 
in  Northam  town,  and  then  in  Bideford ; and  so  left  them  to 
lounge  for  another  half-hour  on  the  beach,  and  then  walk  across 
the  smooth  sheet  of  turf  to  the  little  white  fishing  village,  which 
stands  some  two  miles  above  the  bar,  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Torridge  and  the  Taw. 

Now  it  came  to  pass,  that  Eustace  Leigh,  as  we  have  seen, 
told  his  cousins  that  he  was  going  to  Northam  : but  he  did  not 
tell  them  that  his  point  was  really  the  same  as  their  own, 
namely,  Appledore ; and,  therefore,  after  having  satisfied  his 
conscience  by  going  as  far  as  the  very  nearest  house  in  Northam 
village,  he  struck  away  sharp  to  the  left  across  the  fields, 
repeating  I know  not  what  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  all  the  way ; 
whereby  he  went  several  miles  out  of  his  road  ; and  also,  as  is 
the  wont  of  crooked  spirits,  Jesuits  especially  (as  three  centuries 
sufficiently  testify),  only  outwitted  himself.  For  his  cousins 


Appledore. 


OF  WALES. 


57 


CHAP.  III.] 

going  merrily,  like  honest  men,  along  the  straight  road  across 
the  turf,  airived  in  Appledore,  opposite  the  little  “ Mariner’s 
Rest  ” Inn,  just  in  time  to  see  what  Eustace  had  taken  so 
much  trouble  to  hide  from  them,  namely,  four  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Leigh’s  horses  standing  at  the  door,  held  by  his  groom,  saddles 
and  mail-bags  on  back,  and  mounting  three  of  them,  Eustace 
Leigh  and  two  strange  gentlemen. 

“ There’s  one  lie  already  this  morning,”  growled  Amyas ; 
“he  told  us  he  was  going  to  Northam.” 

“ And  we  do  not  know  that  he  has  not  been  there,”  blandly 
suggested  Frank. 

“ Why,  you  are  as  bad  a Jesuit  as  he,  to  help  him  out  with 
such  a fetch.” 

“ He  may  have  changed  his  mind.” 

“ Bless  your  pure  imagination,  my  sweet  boy,”  said  Amyas, 
laying  his  great  hand  on  Frank’s  head,  and  mimicking  his 
mother’s  manner.  “ I say,  dear  Frank,  let’s  step  into  this 
shop  and  buy  a pennyworth  of  whipcord.” 

“What  do  you  want  with  whipcord,  man'?” 

“ To  spin  my  top,  to  be  sure.” 

“ Top  ? how  long  hast  had  a top  ?” 

“ I’ll  buy  one,  then,  and  save  my  conscience ; but  the 
upshot  of  this  sport  I must  see.  Why  may  not  I have  an 
excuse  ready  made  as  well  as  Master  Eustace '?” 

So  saying,  he  pulled  Frank  into  the  little  shop,  unobserved 
by  the  party  at  the  inn-door. 

“ What  strange  cattle  has  he  been  importing  now  1 Look 
at  that  three-legged  fellow,  trying  to  get  aloft  on  the  wrong 
side.  How  he  claws  at  his  horse’s  ribs,  like  a cat  scratching 
an  elder  stem  !” 

The  three-legged  man  was  a tall,  meek-looking  person,  who 
had  bedizened  himself  with  gorgeous  garments,  a great  feather, 
and  a sword  so  long  and  broad,  that  it  differed  little  in  size 
from  the  very  thin  and  stiff  shanks  between  which  it  wandered 
uncomfortably. 

“ Young  David  in  Saul’s  weapons,”  said  Frank.  “ He  had 
better  not  go  in  them,  .for  he  certainly  has  not  proved  them.” 

“ Look,  if  his  third  leg  is  not  turned  into  a tail ! Why 
does  not  some  one  in  charity  haul  in  half-a-yard  of  his  belt  for 
him  V’ 

It  was  too  true ; the  sword,  after  being  kicked  out  three  or 
four  times  from  its  uncomfortable  post  between  his  legs,  had 
returned  unconquered ; and  the  hilt  getting  a little  too  fat  back 


58 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[chap.  III. 

by  reason  of  the  too  great  length  of  the  belt,  the  weapon  took 
up  its  post  triumphantly  behind,  standing  out  point  in  air,  a 
tail  contest,  amid  the  tittering  of  the  ostlers,  and  the  cheers  of 
the  sailors. 

At  last  the  poor  man,  by  dint  of  a chair,  was  mounted 
safely,  while  his  fellow-stranger,  a burly,  coarse-looking  man, 
equally  gay,  and  rather  more  handy,  made  so  fierce  a rush  at 
his  saddle,  that,  like  “vaulting  ambition  who  o’erleaps  his  selle,” 
he  “fell  on  t’other  side:”  or  would  have  fallen,  had  he  not 
been  brought  up  short  by  the  shoulders  of  the  ostler  at  his  off- 
stirrup.  In  which  shock  off  came  hat  and  feather. 

“ Pardie,  the  bulldog-faced  one  is  a fighting  man.  Dost 
see,  Frank1?  he  has  had  his  head  broken.” 

“ That  scar  came  not,  my  son,  but  by  a pair  of  most 
Catholic  and  apostolic  scissors.  My  gentle  buzzard,  that  is  a 
priest’s  tonsure.” 

“ Hang  the  dog  ! 0,  that  the  sailors  may  but  see  it,  and 
put  him  over  the  quay  head.  I’ve  a half  mind  to  go  and  do 
it  myself.” 

“My  dear  Amyas,”  said  Frank,  laying  two  fingers  on  his 
arm,  “these  men,  whosoever  they  are,  are  the  guests  of  our 
uncle,  and  therefore  the  guests  of  our  family.  Ham  gained 
little  by  publishing  Noah’s  shame ; neither  shall  we,  by  pub- 
lishing our  uncle’s.” 

“ Murrain  on  you,  old  Franky,  you  never  let  a man  speak 
his  mind,  and  shame  the  devil.” 

“ I liave  lived  long  enough  in  courts,  old  Amyas,  without  a 
murrain  on  you,  to  have  found  out  first,  that  it  is  not  so  easy 
to  shame  the  devil ; and  secondly,  that  it  is  better  to  outwit 
him ; and  the  only  way  to  do  that,  sweet  chuck,  is  very  often 
not  to  speak  your  mind  at  all.  We  will  go  down  and  visit 
them  at  Chapel  in  a day  or  two,  and  see  if  we  cannot  serve 
these  reynards  as  the  badger  did  the  fox,  when  he  found  him 
in  his  hole,  and  could  not  get  him  out  by  evil  savours.” 

“ How  then  ?” 

“ Stuck  a sweet  nosegay  in  the  door,  which  turned  Reynard’s 
stomach  at  once ; and  so  overcame  evil  with  good.” 

“Well,  thou  art  too  good  for  this  world,  that’s  certain ; so 
we  will  go  home  to  breakfast.  Those  rogues  are  out  of  sight 
by  now.” 

Nevertheless,  Amyas  was  not  proof  against  the  temptation 
of  going  over  to  the  inn-door,  and  asking  who  were  the  gentle- 
men who  went  with  Mr.  Leigh. 


OF  WALES. 


59 


CHAP.  III.] 

“Gentlemen  of  Wales,”  said  the  ostler,  “who  came  last 
night  in  a pinnace  from  Milford-haven,  and  their  names,  Mr. 
Morgan  Evans  and  Mr.  Evan  Morgans.” 

“ Mr.  Judas  Iscariot  and  Mr.  Iscariot  Judas,”  said  Amyas 
between  his  teeth,  and  then  observed  aloud,  “ that  the  Welsh 
gentlemen  seemed  rather  poor  horsemen.” 

“So  I said  to  Mr.  Leigh’s  groom,  your  worship.  But  he 
says  that  those  parts  be  so  uncommon  rough  and  mountainous, 
that  the  poor  gentlemen,  you  see,  being  enforced  to  hunt  on 
foot,  have  no  such  opportunities  as  young  gentlemen  hereabout, 
like  your  worship ; whom  God  preserve,  and  send  a virtuous 
lady,  and  one  worthy  of  you.” 

“ Thou  hast  a villanously  glib  tongue,  fellow  !”  said  Amyas, 
who  was  thoroughly  out  of  humour ; •“  and  a sneaking  down 
visage  too,  when  I come  to  look  at  you.  I doubt  but  you  are 
a Papist  too,  I do  !” 

“Well,  sir  ! and  what  if  I am  ! I trust  I don’t  break  the 
queen’s  laws  by  that.  If  I don’t  attend  Northam  church,  I 
pay  my  month’s  shilling  for  the  use  of  the  poor,  as  the  Act 
directs ; and  beyond  that,  neither  you  nor  any  man  dare 
demand  of  me.” 

“ Dare  ! Act  directs  ! You  rascally  lawyer,  you  ! and  whence 
does  an  ostler  like  you  get  your  shilling  to  pay  withal  ? Answer 
me.”  The  examinate  found  it  so  difficult  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion, that  he  suddenly  became  afflicted  with  deafness. 

“J)o  you  hear?”  roared  Amyas,  catching  at  him  with  his 
lion’s  .paw. 

“Yes,  missus;  anon,  anon,  missus!”  quoth  he  to  an 
imaginary  landlady  inside,  and  twisting  under  Amyas’s  hand 
like  an  eel,  vanished  into  the  house,  while  Frank  got  the  hot- 
headed youth  away. 

“ What  a plague  is  one  to  do,  then  ? That  fellow  was  a 
Papist  spy ! ” 

“ Of  course  he  was  !”  said  Frank. 

“ Then,  what  is  one  to  do,  if  the  whole  country  is  full  of 
them  ?” 

“Not  to  make  fools  of  ourselves  about  them  ; and  so  leave 
them  to  make  fools  of  themselves.” 

“ That’s  all  very  fine  : but— well,  I shall  remember  the 
villain’s  face  if  I see  him  again.” 

“ There  is  no  harm  in  that,”  said  Frank. 

“Glad  you  think  so.” 

“ Don’t  quarrel  with  me,  Amyas,  the  first  day.” 


60 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[CHAP.  in. 

“ Quarrel  with  thee,  my  darling  old  fellow  ! I had  sooner 
kiss  the  dust  off  thy  feet,  if  I were  worthy  of  it.  So  now  away 
home  ; my  inside  cries  cupboard.” 

In  the  meanwhile  Messrs.  Evans  and  Morgans  were  riding 
away,  as  fast  as  the  rough  by-lanes  would  let  them,  along  the 
fresh  coast  of  the  bay,  steering  carefully  clear  of  Northam  town 
oil  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  of  Portledge,  where  dwelt 
that  most  Protestant  justice  of  the  peace,  Mr.  Coffin.  And  it 
was  well  for  them  that  neither  Amyas  Leigh,  or  indeed  any 
other  loyal  Englishman,  was  by  when  they  entered,  as  they 
shortly  did,  the  lonely  woods  which  stretch  along  the  southern 
wall  of  the  bay.  For  there  Eustace  Leigh  pulled  up  short ; and 
both  he  and  his  groom,  leaping  from  their  horses,  knelt  down 
humbly  in  the  wet  grass,  and  implored  the  blessing  of  the  two 
valiant  gentlemen  of  Wales,  who,  having  graciously  bestowed 
it  with  three  fingers  apiece,  became  thenceforth  no  longer 
Morgan  Evans  and  Evan  Morgans,  Welshmen  and  gentle- 
men ; but  Father  Parsons  and  Father  Campian,  Jesuits,  and 
gentlemen  in  no  sense  in  which  that  word  is  applied  in  this 
book. 

After  a few  minutes,  the  party  were  again  in  motion,  am- 
bling steadily  and  cautiously  along  the  high  table-land,  towards 
Moorwinstow  in  the  west ; while  beneath  them  on  the  right,  at 
the  mouth  of  rich-wooded  glens,  opened  vistas  of  the  bright  blue 
bay,  and  beyond  it  the  sandhills  of  Braunton,  and  the  ragged 
rocks  of  Morte ; while  far  away  to  the  north  and  west  the  lonely 
isle  of  Lundy  hung  like  a soft  grey  cloud. 

But  they  were  not  destined  to  reach  their  point  as  peace- 
ably as  they  could  have  wished.  For  just  as  they  got  opposite 
Clovelly  Dike,  the  huge  old  Roman  encampment  which  stands 
about  mid-way  in  their  journey,  they  heard  a halloo  from  the 
valley  below,  answered  by  a fainter  one  far  ahead.  At  which, 
like  a couple  of  rogues  (as  indeed  they  were),  Father  Campian 
and  Father  Parsons  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  both  stared 
round  at  the  wild,  desolate,  open  pasture  (for  the  country  was 
then  all  unenclosed),  and  the  great  dark  furze-grown  banks  above 
their  heads  ; and  Campian  remarked  gently  to  Parsons,  that  this 
was  a very  dreary  spot,  and  likely  enough  for  robbers. 

“A  likelier  spot  for  us,  Father,”  said  Eustace,  punning. 
“ The  old  Romans  knew  what  they  were  about  when  they  put 
their  legions  up  aloft  here  to  overlook  land  and  sea  for  miles 
away ; and  we  may  thank  them  some  day  for  their  leavings. 
The  banks  are  all  sound ; there  is  plenty  of  good  water  inside  ; 


OF  WALES. 


CHAP.  III.] 


61 


and  ” (added  he  in  Latin),  “ in  case  our  Spanish  friends — you 
understand  ? ” 

“ Pauca  verba , my  son  !”  said  Campian  : but  as  he  spoke, 
up  from  the  ditch  close  beside  him,  as  if  rising  out  of  the  earth, 
burst  through  the  furze-bushes  an  armed  cavalier. 

“Pardon,  gentlemen!”  shouted  he,  as  the  Jesuit  and  his 
horse  recoiled  against  the  groom.  “ Stand,  for  your  lives  !” 

“ Mater  coelorum  /”  moaned  Campian  : while  Parsons,  who, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  was  a blustering  bully  enough  (at  least 
with  his  tongue),  asked  : “ What  a murrain  right  had  he  to 
stop  honest  folks  on  the  queen’s  highway?”  confirming  the 
same  with  a mighty  oath,  which  he  set  down  as  peccatum  veniale , 
on  account  of  the  sudden  necessity  ; nay,  indeed  fraus  pia , as 
proper  to  support  the  character  of  that  valiant  gentleman  of 
Wales,  Mr.  Evan  Morgans.  But  the  horseman,  taking  no  notice 
of  his  hint,  dashed  across  the  nose  of  Eustace  Leigh’s  horse, 
with  a “ Hillo,  old  lad  ! where  ridest  so  early  ?”  and  peering 
down  for  a moment  into  the  ruts  of  the  narrow  track-way, 
struck  spurs  into  his  horse,  shouting,  “ A fresh  slot ! right  away 
for  Hartland  ! Forward  gentlemen  all  ! follow,  follow,  follow  !” 

“ Who  is  this  roysterer  ?”  asked  Parsons,  loftily. 

“Will  Cary,  of  Clovelly ; an  awful  heretic  : and  here  come 
more  behind.” 

And  as  he  spoke  four  or  five  more  mounted  gallants  plunged 
in  and  out  of  the  great  dikes,  and  thundered  on  behind  the  party ; 
whose  horses,  quite  understanding  what  game  was  up,  burst  into 
full  gallop,  neighing  and  squealing ; and  in  another  minute  the 
hapless  Jesuits  were  hurling  along  over  moor  and  moss  after  a 
“ hart  of  grease.” 

Parsons,  who,  though  a vulgar  bully,  was  no  coward,  sup- 
ported the  character  of  Mr.  Evan  Morgans  well  enough ; and 
he  would  have  really  enjoyed  himself,  had  he  not  been  in  agonies 
of  fear  lest  those  precious  saddle-bags  in  front  of  him  should 
break  from  their  lashings,  and  rolling  to  the  earth,  expose  to 
the  hoofs  of  heretic  horses,  perhaps  to  the  gaze  of  heretic  eyes, 
such  a cargo  of  bulls,  dispensations,  secret  correspondences, 
seditious  tracts,  and  so  forth,  that  at  the  very  thought  of  their 
being  seen,  his  head  felt  loose  upon  his  shoulders.  But  the 
future  martyr  behind  him,  Mr.  Morgan  Evans,  gave  himself  up 
at  once  to  abject  despair,  and  as  he  bumped  and  rolled  along, 
sought  vainly  for  comfort  in  professional  ejaculations  in  the 
Latin  tongue. 

“ Mater  intemerata ! Eripe,  me  e — Ugh  ! I am  down  ! 


62 


OF  TWO  GENTLEMEN 


[chap.  III. 

Adhcesit  pavimento  venter  ! — No  ! I am  not ! Et  dilectum  tuum 
e potentate  canis — Ah  ! Audisti  me  inter  coimua  unicomium  } 
Put  this,  too,  down  in — ugh  ! — -thy  account  in  favour  of  my 
poor — oh,  sharpness  of  this  saddle  ! Oh  whither,  barbarous 
islanders  ! ” 

Now  riding  on  his  quarter,  not  in  the  rough  track-way  like 
a cockney,  but  through  the  soft  heather  like  a sportsman,  was  a 
very  gallant  knight  whom  we  all  know  well  by  this  time,  Richard 
Grenvile  by  name ; who  had  made  Mr.  Cary  and  the  rest  his 
guests  the  night  before,  and  then  ridden  out  with  them  at  five 
o’clock  that  morning,  after  the  wholesome  early  ways  of  the 
time,  to  rouse  a well-known  stag  in  the  glens  at  Buckish,  by 
help  of  Mr.  Coffin’s  hounds  from  Portledge.  Who  being  as 
good  a Latiner  as  Campian’s  self,  and  overhearing  both  the 
scraps  of  psalm  and  the  “ barbarous  islanders,”  pushed  his  horse 
alongside  of  Mr.  Eustace  Leigh,  and  at  the  first  check  said,  with 
two  low  bows  towards  the  two  strangers — 

“ I hope  Mr.  Leigh  will  do  me  the  honour  of  introducing 
me  to  his  guests.  I should  be  sorry,  and  Mr.  Cary  also,  that 
any  gentle  strangers  should  become  neighbours  of  ours,  even  for 
a day,  without  our  knowing  who  they  are  who  honour  our 
western  Thule  with  a visit ; and  showing  them  ourselves  all 
due  requital  for  the  compliment  of  their  presence.” 

After  which,  the  only  thing  which  poor  Eustace  could  do 
(especially  as  it  was  spoken  loud  enough  for  all  bystanders), 
was  to  introduce  in  due  form  Mr.  Evan  Morgans  and  Mr. 
Morgan  Evans,  who,  hearing  the  name,  and  what  was  worse, 
seeing  the  terrible  face  with  its  quiet  searching  eye,  felt  like  a 
brace  of  partridge-poults  cowering  in  the  stubble,  with  a hawk 
hanging  ten  feet  over  their  heads. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Sir  Richard  blandly,  cap  in  hand ; “ I 
fear  that  your  mails  must  have  been  somewhat  in  your  way  in 
this  unexpected  gallop.  If  you  will  permit  my  groom,  who  is 
behind,  to  disencumber  you  of  them  and  carry  them  to  Chapel, 
you  will  both  confer  an  honour  on  me,  and  be  enabled  yourselves 
to  see  the  mort  more  pleasantly.” 

A twinkle  of  fun,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  played  about 
good  Sir  Richard’s  eye  as  he  gave  this  searching  hint.  The  two 
Welsh  gentlemen  stammered  out  clumsy  thanks ; and  pleading 
great  haste  and  fatigue  from  a long  journey,  contrived  to  fall 
to  the  rear  and  vanish  with  their  guides,  as  soon  as  the  slot  had 
been  recovered. 

“ Will !”  said  Sir  Richard,  pushing  alongside  of  young  Cary. 


OF  WALES. 


63 


CHAP.  III.] 

“ Your  worship  ?” 

“Jesuits,  Will !” 

“ May  the  father  of  lies  fly  away  with  them  over  the  nearest 
cliff!” 

“ He  will  not  do  that  while  this  Irish  trouble  is  about. 
Those  fellows  are  come  to  practise  here  for  Saunders  and 
Desmond.” 

“ Perhaps  they  have  a consecrated  banner  in  their  bag,  the 
scoundrels ! Shall  I and  young  Coffin  on  and  stop  them  ? 
Hard  if  the  honest  men  may  not  rob  the  thieves  once  in  a way.” 
“No;  give  the  devil  rope,  and  he  will  hang  himself.  Keep 
thy  tongue  at  home,  and  thine  eyes  too,  Will.” 

“ How  then  V’ 

“ Let  Clovelly  beach  be  watched  night  and  day  like  any 
mousehole.  No  one  can  land  round  Harty  Point  with  these 
south-westers.  Stop  every  fellow  who  has  the  ghost  of  an  Irish 
brogue,  come  he  in  or  go  he  out,  and  send  him  over  to  me.” 

“ Some  one  should  guard  Bude-haven,  sir.” 

“Leave  that  to  me.  Now  then,  forward,  gentlemen  all,  or 
the  stag  will  take  the  sea  at  the  Abbey.” 

And  on  they  crashed  down  the  Hartland  glens,  through  the 
oak-scrub  and  the  great  crown-ferns ; and  the  baying  of  the 
slow-hound  and  the  tantaras  of  the  horn  died  away  farther  and 
fainter  toward  the  blue  Atlantic,  while  the  conspirators,  with 
lightened  hearts,  pricked  fast  across  Bursdon  upon  their  evil 
errand.  But  Eustace  Leigh  had  other  thoughts  and  other  cares 
than  the  safety  of  his  father’s  two  mysterious  guests,  important 
as  that  was  in  his  eyes ; for  he  was  one  of  the  many  who  had 
drunk  in  sweet  poison  (though  in  his  case  it  could  hardly  be  called 
sweet)  from  the  magic  glances  of  the  Rose  of  Torridge.  He 
had  seen  her  in  the  town,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  fallen 
utterly  in  love ; and  now  that  she  had  come  down  close  to  his 
father’s  house,  he  looked  on  her  as  a lamb  fallen  unawares  into 
the  jaws  of  the  greedy  wolf,  which  he  felt  himself  to  be.  For 
Eustace’s  love  had  little  or  nothing  of  chivalry,  self-sacrifice,  or 
purity  in  it;  those  were  virtues  which  were  not  taught  at 
Rheims.  Careful  as  the  Jesuits  were  over  the  practical  morality 
of  their  pupils,  this  severe  restraint  had  little  effect  in  producing 
real  habits  of  self-control.  What  little  Eustace  had  learnt  of 
women  from  them,  was  as  base  and  vulgar  as  the  rest  of  their 
teaching.  What  could  it  be  else,  if  instilled  by  men  educated 
in  the  schools  of  Italy  and  France,  in  the  age  which  produced 
the  foul  novels  of  Cinthio  and  Bandello,  and  compelled  Rabelais 


64 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[chap.  iv. 

in  order  to  escape  the  rack  and  stake,  to  hide  the  light  of  his 
great  wisdom,  not  beneath  a bushel,  but  beneath  a dunghill ; 
the  age  in  which  the  Romish  Church  had  made  marriage  a 
legalised  tyranny,  and  the  laity,  by  a natural  and  pardonable 
revulsion,  had  exalted  adultery  into  a virtue  and  a science1? 
That  all  love  was  lust ; that  all  women  had  their  price ; that 
profligacy,  though  an  ecclesiastical  sin,  was  so  pardonable,  if 
not  necessary,  as  to  be  hardly  a moral  sin,  were  notions  which 
Eustace  must  needs  have  gathered  from  the  hints  of  his  pre- 
ceptors ; for  their  written  works  bear  to  this  day  fullest  and 
foulest  testimony  that  such  was  their  opinion ; and  that  their 
conception  of  the  relation  of  the  sexes  was  really  not  a whit 
higher  than  that  of  the  profligate  laity  who  confessed  to  them. 
He  longed  to  marry  Rose  Salterne,  with  a wild  selfish  fury ; 
but  only  that  he  might  be  able  to  claim  her  as  his  own  property, 
and  keep  all  others  from  her.  Of  her  as  a co-equal  and  en- 
nobling helpmate ; as  one  in  whose  honour,  glory,  growth  of  heart 
and  soul,  his  own  were  inextricably  wrapt  up,  he  had  never 
dreamed.  Marriage  would  prevent  God  from  being  angry  with 
that,  with  which  otherwise  He  might  be  angry ; and  therefore 
the  sanction  of  the  Church  was  the  more  “ probable  and  safe  ” 
course.  But  as  yet  his  suit  was  in  very  embryo.  He  could  not 
even  tell  whether  Rose  knew  of  his  love ; and  he  wasted  miser- 
able hours  in  maddening  thoughts,  and  tost  all  night  upon  his 
sleepless  bed,  and  rose  next  morning  fierce  and  pale,  to  invent 
fresh  excuses  for  going  over  to  her  uncle’s  house,  and  lingering 
about  the  fruit  which  he  dared  not  snatch. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

THE  TWO  WAYS  OF  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE. 

“ T could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I not  honour  more.” — Lovelace. 

And  what  all  this  while  has  become  of  the  fair  breaker  of  so 
many  hearts,  to  whom  I have  not  yet  even  introduced  my 
readers  h 

She  was  sitting  in  the  little  farm-house  beside  the  mill, 
buried  in  the  green  depths  of  the  Valley  of  Combe,  half-way 
between  Stow  and  Chapel,  sulking  as  much  as  her  sweet  nature 
would  let  her,  at  being  thus  shut  out  from  all  the  grand  doings 
at  Bideford,  and  forced  to  keep  a Martinmas  Lent  in  that  far 


CHAP,  iv.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  65 

western  glen.  So  lonely  was  she,  in  fact,  that  though  she  re- 
garded Eustace  Leigh  with  somewhat  of  aversion,  and  (being  a 
good  Protestant)  with  a great  deal  of  suspicion,  she  could  not 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  avoid  a chat  with  him  whenever  he  came 
down  to  the  farm  and  to  its  mill,  which  he  contrived  to  do,  on 
I know  not  what  would-be  errand,  almost  every  day.  Her 
uncle  and  aunt  at  first  looked  stiff  enough  at  these  visits,  and 
the  latter  took  care  always  to  make  a third  in  every  conversa- 
tion ; but  still  Mr.  Leigh  was  a gentleman’s  son,  and  it  would 
not  do  to  be  rude  to  a neighbouring  squire  and  a good  customer ; 
and  Rose  was  the  rich  man’s  daughter  and  they  poor  cousins,  so 
it  would  not  do  either  to  quarrel  with  her ; and  besides,  the 
pretty  maid,  half  by  wilfulness,  and  half  by  her  sweet  winning 
tricks,  generally  contrived  to  get  her  own  way  wheresoever  she 
went ; and  she  herself  had  been  wise  enough  to  beg  her  aunt 
never  to  leave  them  alone, — for  she  “(could  not  a-bear  the  sight 
of  Mr.  Eustace,  only  she  must  have  some  one  to  talk  with  down 
here.”  On  which  her  aunt  considered,  that  she  herself  was  but 
a simple  country-woman ; and  that  townsfolks’  ways  of  course 
must  be  very  different  from  hers ; and  that  people  knew  their 
own  business  best ; and  so  forth,  and  let  things  go  on  their  own 
way.  Eustace,  in  the  meanwhile,  who  knew  well  that  the 
difference  in  creed  between  him  and  Rose  was  likely  to  be  the 
very  hardest  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  love,  took  care  to  keep 
his  private  opinions  well  in  the  background;  and  instead  of 
trying  to  convert  the  folk  at  the  mill,  daily  bought  milk  or  flour 
from  them,  and  gave  it  away  to  the  old  women  in  Moorwinstow 
(who  agreed  that  after  all,  for  a Papist,  he  was  a godly  young 
man  enough) ; and  at  last,  having  taken  counsel  with  Campian 
and  Parsons  on  certain  political  plots  then  on  foot,  came  with 
them  to  the  conclusion  that  they  would  all  three  go  to  church 
the  next  Sunday.  Where  Messrs.  Evan  Morgans  and  Morgan 
Evans,  having  crammed  up  the  rubrics  beforehand,  behaved 
themselves  in  a most  orthodox  and  unexceptionable  manner; 
as  did  also  poor  Eustace,  to  the  great  wonder  of  all  good  folks, 
and  then  went  home  flattering  himself  that  he  had  taken  in 
parson,  clerk,  and  people ; not  knowing  in  his  simple  unsimpli- 
city, and  cunning  foolishness,  that  each  good  wife  in  the  parish 
was  saying  to  the  other,  “He  turned  Protestant  1 The  devil 
turned  monk ! He’s  only  after  Mistress  Salterne,  the  young 
hypocrite.” 

But  if  the  two  Jesuits  found  it  expedient,  for  the  holy  cause 
in  which  they  were  embarked,  to  reconcile  themselves  outwardly 

F 


66 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[chap.  IV. 

to  the  powers  that  were,  they  were  none  the  less  busy  in  private 
in  plotting  their  overthrow. 

Ever  since  April  last  they  had  been  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  England,  and  now  they  were 
only  lying  quiet  till  expected  news  from  Ireland  should  give 
them  their  cue,  and  a great  “ rising  of  the  West”  should  sweep 
from  her  throne  that  stiff-necked,  persecuting,  excommunicate, 
reprobate,  illegitimate,  and  profligate  usurper,  who  falsely  called 
herself  the  Queen  of  England. 

For  they  had  as  stoutly  persuaded  themselves  in  those  days, 
as  they  have  in  these  (with  a real  Baconian  contempt  of  the 
results  of  sensible  experience),  that  the  heart  of  England  was 
really  with  them,  and  that  the  British  nation  was  on  the  point 
of  returning  to  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  giving 
up  Elizabeth  to  be  led  in  chains  to  the  feet  of  the  rightful 
Lord  of  Creation,  the  Old  Man  of  the  Seven  Hills.  And  this 
fair  hope,  which  has  been  skipping  just  in  front  of  them  for 
centuries,  always  a step  farther  off,  like  the  place  where  the 
rainbow  touches  the  ground,  they  used  to  announce  at  times, 
in  language  which  terrified  old  Mr.  Leigh.  One  day,  indeed, 
as  Eustace  entered  his  father’s  private  room,  after  his  usual 
visit  to  the  mill,  he  could  hear  voices  high  in  dispute ; Parsons 
as  usual,  blustering ; Mr.  Leigh  peevishly  deprecating,  and 
Campian,  who  was  really  the  sweetest-natured  of  men,  trying 
to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters.  Whereat  Eustace  (for  the 
good  of  the  cause,  of  course)  stopped  outside  and  listened. 

“ My  excellent  sir,”  said  Mr.  Leigh,  “ does  not  your  very 
presence  here  show  how  I am  affected  toward  the  holy  cause 
of  the  Catholic  faith  ? But  I cannot  in  the  meanwhile  forget 
that  I am  an  Englishman.” 

“And  what  is  England?”  said  Parsons:  “A  heretic  and 
schismatic  Babylon,  whereof  it  is  written,  1 Come  out  of  her, 
my  people,  lest  you  be  partaker  of  her  plagues.’  Yea,  what  is 
a country  ? An  arbitrary  division  of  territory  by  the  princes 
of  this  world,  who  are  nought,  and  come  to  nought.  They  are 
created  by  the  people’s  will ; their  existence  depends  on  the 
sanction  of  him  to  whom  all  power  is  given  in  heaven  and 
earth — our  Holy  Father  the  Pope.  Take  away  the  latter,  and 
what  is  a king  ? — the  people  who  have  made  him  may  unmake 
him.” 

“My  dear  sir,  recollect  that  I have  sworn  allegiance  to 
Queen  Elizabeth  !” 

“Yes,  sir,  you  have,  sir;  and,  as  I have  shown  at  large 


BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE. 


67 


CHAP.  IV.] 

in  my  writings,  you  were  absolved  from  that  allegiance  from 
the  moment  that  the  bull  of  Pius  the  Fifth  declared  her  a 
heretic  and  excommunicate,  and  thereby  to  have  forfeited  all 
dominion  whatsoever.  I tell  you,  sir,  what  I thought  you 
should  have  known  already,  that  since  the  year  1569,  England 
has  had  no  queen,  no  magistrates,  no  laws,  no  lawful  authority 
whatsoever ; and  that  to  own  allegiance  to  any  English  magis- 
trate, sir,  or  to  plead  in  an  English  court  of  law,  is  to  disobey 
the  apostolic  precept,  ‘ How  dare  you  go  to  law  before  the 
unbelievers  V I tell  you,  sir,  rebellion  is  now  not  merely  per- 
mitted, it  is  a duty.” 

“Take  care,  sir;  for  God’s  sake,  take  care!”  said  Mr. 
Leigh.  “ Right  or  wrong,  I cannot  have  such  language  used  in 
my  house.  For  the  sake  of  my  wife  and  children,  I cannot !” 

“ My  dear  brother  Parsons,  deal  more  gently  with  the  flock,” 
interposed  Campian.  “Your  opinion,  though  probable,  as  I 
well  know,  in  the  eyes  of  most  of  our  order,  is  hardly  safe 
enough  here ; the  opposite  is  at  least  so  safe  that  Mr.  Leigh 
may  well  excuse  his  conscience  for  accepting  it.  After  all,  are 
we  not  sent  hither  to  proclaim  this  very  thing,  and  to  relieve 
the  souls  of  good  Catholics  from  a burden  which  has  seemed  to 
them  too  heavy  V' 

“Yes,”  said  Parsons  half-sulkily,  “to  allow  all  Balaams 
who  will  to  sacrifice  to  Baal,  while  they  call  themselves  by  the 
name  of  the  Lord.” 

“ My  dear  brother,  have  I not  often  reminded  you  that 
Naaman  was  allowed  to  bow  himself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon'? 
And  can  we  therefore  complain  of  the  office  to  which  the  Holy 
Father  has  appointed  us,  to  declare  to  such  as  Mr.  Leigh  his 
especial  grace,  by  which  the  bull  of  Pius  the  Fifth  (on  whose 
soul  God  have  mercy  !)  shall  henceforth  bind  the  queen  and 
the  heretics  only ; but  in  no  ways  the  Catholics,  at  least  as 
long  as  the  present  tyranny  prevents  the  pious  purposes  of  the 
bull  ?” 

“ Be  it  so,  sir ; be  it  so.  Only  observe  this,  Mr.  Leigh, 
that  our  brother  Campian  confesses  this  to  be  a tyranny. 
Observe,  sir,  that  the  bull  does  still  bind  the  so-called  queen, 
and  that  she  and  her  magistrates  are  still  none  the  less  usurpers, 
nonentities,  and  shadows  of  a shade.  And  observe  this,  sir, 
that  when  that  which  is  lawful  is  excused  to  the  weak,  it 
remains  no  less  lawful  to  the  strong.  The  seven  thousand  who 
had  not  bowed  the  knee  to  Baal  did  not  slay  his  priests  ; but 
Elijah  did,  and  won  to  himself  a good  reward.  And  if  the 


68 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[chap.  iv. 

rest  of  the  children  of  Israel  sinned  not  in  not  slaying  Eglon, 
yet  Elnid’s  deed  was  none  the  less  justified  by  all  laws  human 
and  divine.” 

“ For  Heaven’s  sake,  do  not  talk  so,  sir ! or  I must  leave 
the  room.  What  have  I to  do  with  Ehud  and  Eglon,  and 
slaughters,-  and  tyrannies  ? Our  queen  is  a very  good  queen, 
if  Heaven  would  but  grant  her  repentance,  and  turn  her  to  the 
true  faith.  I have  never  been  troubled  about  religion,  nor  any 
one  else  that  I know  of  in  the  West  country.” 

“ You  forget  Mr.  Trudgeon  of  Launceston,  father,  and  poor 
Father  Mayne,”  interposed  Eustace,  who  had  by  this  time 
slipped  in ; and  Campian  added  softly — 

“ Yes,  your  West  of  England  also  has  been  honoured  by  its 
martyrs,  as  well  as  my  London  by  the  precious  blood  of  Story.” 
“What,  young  malapert1?”  cried  poor  Leigh,  facing  round 
upon  his  son,  glad  to  find  any  one  on  whom  he  might  vent  his 
ill-humour  ; “ are  you  too  against  me,  with  a murrain  on  you  ? 
And  pray,  what  the  devil  brought  Cuthbert  Mayne  to  the 
gallows,  and  turned  Mr.  Trudgeon  (he  was  always  a foolish 
hot-head)  out  of  house  and  home,  but  just  such  treasonable  talk 
as  Mr.  Parsons  must  needs  hold  in  my  house,  to  make  a beggar 
of  me  and  my  children,  as  he  will  before  he  has  done.” 

“ The  blessed  Virgin  forbid  ! ” said  Campian. 

“ The  blessed  Virgin  forbid  ? But  you  must  help  her  to 
forbid  it,  Mr.  Campian.  We  should  never  have  had  the  law  of 
1571,  against  bulls,  and  Agnus  Deis,  and  blessed  grains,  if  the 
Pope’s  bull  of  1569  had  not  made  them  matter  of  treason,  by 
preventing  a poor  creature’s  saving  his  soul  in  the  true  Church 
without  putting  his  neck  into  a halter  by  denying  the  queen’s 
authority.” 

“What,  sir1?”  almost  roared  Parsons,  “do  you  dare  to 
speak  evil  of  the  edicts  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ  ?” 

“1 1 No.  I didn’t.  Who  says  I did?  All  I meant  was, 
I am  sure — Mr.  Campian,  you  are  a reasonable  man,  speak  for 
me.” 

“ Mr.  Leigh  only  meant,  I am  sure,  that  the  Holy  Father’s 
prudent  intentions  have  been  so  far  defeated  by  the  perverseness 
and  invincible  misunderstanding  of  the  heretics,  that  that  which 
was  in  itself  meant  for  the  good  of  the  oppressed  English 
Catholics  has  been  perverted  to  their  harm.” 

“ And  thus,  reverend  sir,”  said  Eustace,  glad  to  get  into  his 
father’s  good  graces  again,  “ my  father  attaches  blame,  not  to 
the  Pope — Heaven  forbid  ! — but  to  the  pravity  of  his  enemies.” 


BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE. 


69 


CHAP.  IV.] 


“ And  it  is  for  this  very  reason,”  said  Campian,  “ that  we 
have  brought  with  us  the  present  merciful  explanation  of  the 
bull.” 

“I’ll  tell  you  what,  gentlemen,”  said  Mr.  Leigh,  who,  like 
other  weak  men,  grew  in  valour  as  his  opponent  seemed  inclined 
to  make  peace,  “I  don’t  think  the  declaration  was  needed. 
After  the  new"  law  of  1571  was  made,  it  was  never  put  in  force 
till  Mayne  and  Trudgeon  made  fools  of  themselves,  and  that 
was  full  six  years.  There  were  a few  offenders,  they  say,  who 
were  brought  up  and  admonished,  and  let  go  ; but  even  that 
did  not  happen  down  here,  and  need  not  happen  now,  unless 
you  put  my  son  here  (for  you  shall  never  put  me,  I warrant 
you)  upon  some  deed  which  had  better  be  left  alone,  and  so 
bring  us  all  to  shame.” 

“ Your  son,  sir,  if  not  openly  vowed  to  God,  has,  I hope,  a 
due  sense  of  that  inward  vocation  which  we  have  seen  in  him, 
and  reverences  his  spiritual  fathers  too  well  to  listen  to  the 
temptations  of  his  earthly  father.” 

“ What,  sir,  will  you  teach  my  son  to  disobey  me  V* 

“Your  son  is  ours  also,  sir.  This  is  strange  language  in 
one  who  owes  a debt  to  the  Church,  which  it  was  charitably 
fancied  he  meant  to  pay  in  the  person  of  his  child.” 

These  last  words  touched  poor  Mr.  Leigh  in  a sore  point, 
and  breaking  all  bounds,  he  swore  roundly  at  Parsons,  who 
stood  foaming  with  rage. 

“ A plague  upon  you,  sir,  and  a black  assizes  for  you,  for 
you  will  come  to  the  gallows  yet ! Do  you  mean  to  taunt  me 
in  my  own  house  with  that  Hartland  land  ? You  had  better 
go  back  and  ask  those  who  sent  you  where  the  dispensation  to 
hold  the  land  is,  which  they  promised  to  get  me  years  ago,  and 
have  gone  on  putting  me  off,  till  they  have  got  my  money,  and 
my  son,  and  my  conscience,  and  I vow  before  all  the  saints, 
seem  now  to  want  my  head  over  and  above.  God  help  me  !” — 
and  the  poor  man’s  eyes  fairly  filled  with  tears. 

Now  was  Eustace’s  turn  to  be  roused ; for,  after  all,  he 
was  an  Englishman  and  a gentleman ; and  he  said  kindly 
enough,  but  firmly- — 

" Courage,  my  dearest  father.  Remember  that  I am  still 
your  son,  and  not  a Jesuit  yet ; and  whether  I ever  become 
one,  I promise  you,  will  depend  mainly  on  the  treatment  which 
you  meet  with  at  the  hands  of  these  reverend  gentlemen,  for 
whom  I,  as  having  brought  them  hither,  must  consider  myself 
as  surety  to  you.” 


70 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[CHAP.  IV. 

If  a powder-barrel  had  exploded  in  the  Jesuits’  faces,  they 
could  not  have  been  more  amazed.  Campian  looked  blank  at 
Parsons,  and  Parsons  at  Campian ; till  the  stouter-hearted  of 
the  two,  recovering  his  breath  at  last — 

“ Sir ! do  you  know,  sir,  the  curse  pronounced  on  those 
who,  after  putting  their  hand  to  the  plough,  look  back  V ’ 

Eustace  was  one  of  those  impulsive  men,  with  a lack  of 
moral  courage,  who  dare  raise  the  devil,  but  never  dare  fight 
him  after  he  has  been  raised ; and  he  now  tried  to  pass  off  his 
speech  by  winking  and  making  signs  in  the  direction  of  his 
father,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  was  only  trying  to  quiet  the 
old  man’s  fears.  But  Campian  was  too  frightened,  Parsons  too 
angry,  to  take  his  hints  : and  he  had  to  carry  his  part  through. 

“ All  I read  is,  Father  Parsons,  that  such  are  not  fit  for 
the  kingdom  of  God ; of  which  high  honour  I have  for  some 
time  past  felt  myself  unworthy.  I have  much  doubt  just  now 
as  to  my  vocation  ; and  in  the  meanwhile  have  not  forgotten 
that  I am  a citizen  of  a free  country.”  And  so  saying,  he  took 
his  father’s  arm,  and  walked  out. 

His  last  words  had  hit  the  Jesuits  hard.  They  had  put  the 
poor  cobweb-spinners  in  mind  of  the  humiliating  fact,  which 
they  have  had  thrust  on  them  daily  from  that  time  till  now, 
and  yet  have  never  learnt  the  lesson,  that  all  their  scholastic 
cunning,  plotting,  intriguing,  bulls,  pardons,  indulgences,  and 
the  rest  of  it,  are,  on  this  side  the  Channel,  a mere  enchanter’s 
cloud-castle  and  Fata  Morgana,  which  vanishes  into  empty  air 
by  one  touch  of  that  magic  wand,  the  constable’s  staff.  “ A 
citizen  of  a free  country  !” — there  was  the  rub  ; and  they 
looked  at  each  other  in  more  utter  perplexity  than  ever.  At 
last  Parsons  spoke. 

“ There’s  a woman  in  the  wind.  I’ll  lay  my  life  on  it.  I 
saw  him  blush  up  crimson  yesterday  when  his  mother  asked 
him  whether  some  Rose  Salterne  or  other  was  still  in  the 
neighbourhood.” 

“A  woman  ! Well  tffe  spirit  may  be  willing,  though  the 
flesh  be  weak.  We  will  inquire  into  this.  The  youth  may  do 
us  good  service  as  a layman ; and  if  anything  should  happen  to 
his  elder  brother  (whom  the  saints  protect !)  he  is  heir  to  some 
wealth.  In  the  meanwhile,  our  dear  brother  Parsons  will  per- 
haps see  the  expediency  of  altering  our  tactics  somewhat  while 
we  are  here.” 

And  thereupon  a long  conversation  began  between  the  two, 
who  had  been  sent  together,  after  the  wise  method  of  their 


BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE. 


71 


CHAP.  IV.] 


order,  in  obedience  to  the  precept,  “ Two  are  better  than  one,” 
in  order  that  Campian  might  restrain  Parsons’  vehemence,  and 
Parsons  spur  on  Campian’s  gentleness,  and  so  each  act  as  the 
supplement  of  the  other,  and  each  also,  it  must  be  confessed, 
gave  advice  pretty  nearly  contradictory  to  his  fellow’s  if  occa- 
sion should  require,  “ without  the  danger,”  as  their  writers 
have  it,  “ of  seeming  changeable  and  inconsistent.” 

The  upshot  of  this  conversation  was,  that  in  a day  or  two 
(during  which  time  Mr.  Leigh  and  Eustace  also  had  made  the 
amende  honorable , and  matters  went  smoothly  enough)  Father 
Campian  asked  Father  Francis  the  household  chaplain  to  allow 
him,  as  an  especial  favour,  to  hear  Eustace’s  usual  confession 
on  the  ensuing  Friday. 

Poor  Father  Francis  dared  not  refuse  so  great  a man  ; and 
assented  with  an  inward  groan,  knowing  well  that  the  intent 
was  to  worm  out  some  family  secrets,  whereby  his  power  would 
be  diminished,  and  the  Jesuits’  increased.  For  the  regular 
priesthood  and  the  Jesuits  throughout  England  were  toward 
each  other  in  a state  of  armed  neutrality,  which  wanted  but 
little  at  any  moment  to  become  open  war,  as  it  did  in  James 
the  First’s  time,  when  those  meek  missionaries,  by  their  gentle 
moral  tortures,  literally  hunted  to  death  the  poor  Popish  bishop 
of  Hippopotamus  (that  is  to  say,  London)  for  the  time  being. 

However,  Campian  heard  Eustace’s  confession ; and  by 
putting  to  him  such  questions  as  may  be  easily  conceived  by 
those  who  know  anything  about  the  confessional,  discovered 
satisfactorily  enough,  that  he  was  what  Campian  would  have 
called  “in  love  though  I should  question  much  the  propriety 
of  the  term  as  applied  to  any  facts  which  poor  prurient  Campian 
discovered,  or  indeed  knew  how  to  discover,  seeing  that  a swine 
has  no  eye  for  pearls.  But  he  had  found  out  enough  : he  smiled, 
and  set  to  work  next  vigorously  to  discover  who  the  lady  might 
be. 

If  he  had  frankly  said  to  Eustace,  “ I feel  for  you ; and  if 
your  desires  are  reasonable,  or  lawful,  or  possible,  I will  help 
you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,”  he  might  have  had  the  young 
man’s  secret  heart,  and  saved  himself  an  hour’s  trouble ; but,  of 
course,  he  took  instinctively  the  crooked  and  suspicious  method, 
expected  to  find  the  case  the  worst  possible, — as  a man  was 
bound  to  do  who  had  been  trained  to  take  the  lowest  possible 
view  of  human  nature,  and  to  consider  the  basest  motives  as  the 
mainspring  of  all  human  action, — and  began  his  moral  torture 
accordingly  by  a series  of  delicate  questions,  which  poor  Eustace 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[CHAP.  iv. 


dodged  in  every  possible  way,  though  he  knew  that  the  good 
father  was  too  cunning  for  him,  and  that  he  must  give  in  at 
last.  Nevertheless,  like  a rabbit  who  runs  squealing  round  and 
round  before  the  weasel,  into  whose  jaws  it  knows  that  it  must 
jump  at  last  by  force  of  fascination,  he  parried  and  parried,  and 
pretended  to  be  stupid,  and  surprised,  and  honourably  scrupulous, 
and  even  angry ; while  every  question  as  to  her  being  married  or 
single,  Catholic  or  heretic,  English  or  foreign,  brought  his  tor- 
mentor a step  nearer  the  goal.  At  last,  when  Campian,  finding 
the  business  not  such  a very  bad  one,  had  asked  something  about 
her  worldly  wealth,  Eustace  saw  a door  of  escape  and  sprang  at 
it. 

“ Even  if  she  be  a heretic,  she  is  heiress  to  one  of  the 
wealthiest  merchants  in  Devon.” 

“Ah  !”  said  Campian  thoughtfully.  “And  she  is  but 
eighteen,  you  say  1” 

“ Only  eighteen.” 

“Ah  ! well,  my  son,  there  is  time.  She  may  be  reconciled 
to  the  Church  : or  you  may  change.” 

“ I shall  die  first.” 

“Ah,  poor  lad!  Well;  she  may  be  reconciled,  and  her 
wealth  may  be  of  use  to  the  cause  of  Heaven.” 

“ And  it  shall  be  of  use.  Only  absolve  me,  and  let  me  be 
at  peace.  Let  me  have  but  her,”  he  cried  piteously.  “ I do 
not  want  her  wealth, — not  I ! Let  me  have  but  her,  and  that 
but  for  one  year,  one  month,  one  day  ! — and  all  the  rest,— 
money,  fame,  talents,  yea,  my  life  itself,  hers  if  it  be  needed, — 
are  at  the  service  of  Holy  Church.  Ay,  I shall  glory  in  show- 
ing my  devotion  by  some  special  sacrifice, — some  desperate  deed. 
Prove  me  now,  and  see  what  there  is  I will  not  do  !” 

And  so  Eustace  was  absolved;  after  which  Campian  added, — 
“ This  is  indeed  well,  my  son  : for  there  is  a thing  to  be 
done  now,  but  it  may  be  at  the  risk  of  life.” 

“Prove  me  !”  cried  Eustace  impatiently. 

“ Here  is  a letter  which  was  brought  me  last  night ; no 
matter  from  whence  ; you  can  understand  it  better  than  I,  and 
I longed  to  have  shown  it  you,  but  that  I feared  my  son  had 
become ” 

“You  feared  wrongly,  then,  my  dear  Father  Campian.” 

So  Campian  translated  to  him  the  cipher  of  the  letter. 

“ This  to  Evan  Morgans,  gentleman,  at  Mr.  Leigh’s  house 
in  Moorwinstow,  Devonshire.  News  may  be  had  by  one  who 
will  go  to  the  shore  of  Clovelly,  any  evening  after  the  25th  of 


CHAP,  iv.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  73 

November,  at  dead  low  tide,  and  there  watch  for  a boat,  rowed 
by  one  with  a red  beard,  and  a Portugal  by  his  speech.  If  he 
be  asked,  ‘ How  many  ?’  he  will  answer,  ‘ Eight  hundred  and 
one.’  Take  his  letters  and  read  them.  If  the  shore  be  watched, 
let  him  who  comes  show  a light  three  times  in  a safe  place  under 
the  cliff  above  the  town ; below  is  dangerous  landing.  Farewell, 
and  expect  great  things  ! ” 

“ I will  go,”  said  Eustace ; “ to-morrow  is  the  25th,  and  I 
know  a sure  and  easy  place.  Your  friend  seems  to  know  these 
shores  well.” 

“Ah  ! what  is  it  we  do  not  know?”  said  Campian,  with  a 
mysterious  smile.  “ And  now  ?” 

“ And  now,  to  prove  to  you  how  I trust  to  you,  you  shall 
come  with  me,  and  see  this — the  lady  of  whom  I spoke,  and 
judge  for  yourself  whether  my  fault  is  not  a venial  one.” 

“Ah,  my  son,  have  I not  absolved  you  already?  What 
have  I to  do  with  fair  faces  ? Nevertheless,  I will  come,  both 
to  show  you  that  I trust  you,  and  it  may  be  to  help  towards 
reclaiming  a heretic,  and  saving  a lost  soul : who  knows?” 

So  the  two  set  out  together ; and,  as  it  was  appointed,  they 
had  just  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  between  Chapel  and  Stow 
mill,  when  up  the  lane  came  none  other  than  Mistress  Rose 
Salterne  herself,  in  all  the  glories  of  a new  scarlet  hood,  from 
under  which  her  large  dark  languid  eyes  gleamed  soft  lightnings 
through  poor  Eustace’s  heart  and  marrow.  Up  to  them  she 
tripped  on  delicate  ankles  and  tiny  feet,  tall,  lithe,  and  graceful, 
a true  West-country  lass  ; and  as  she  passed  them  with  a pretty 
blush  and  courtesy,  even  Campian  looked  back  at  the  fair  inno- 
cent creature,  whose  long  dark  curls,  after  the  then  country 
fashion,  rolled  down  from  beneath  the  hood  below  her  waist, 
entangling  the  soul  of  Eustace  Leigh  within  their  glossy  nets. 

“There!”  whispered  he,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
“ Can  you  excuse  me  now  ?” 

“ I had  excused  you  long  ago,”  said  the  kind-hearted  father. 
“ Alas,  that  so  much  fair  red  and  white  should  have  been  created 
only  as  a feast  for  worms  !” 

“A  feast  for  gods  you  mean!”  cried  Eustace,  on  whose 
common  sense  the  naive  absurdity  of  the  last  speech  struck 
keenly ; and  then,  as  if  to  escape  the  scolding  which  he  deserved 
for  his  heathenry, — 

“Will  you  let  me  return  for  a moment  ? I will  follow  you  : 
let  me  go  ! ” 

Campian  saw  that  it  was  of  no  use  to  say  no,  and  nodded. 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


74 


[CHAP.  IV. 


Eustace  darted  from  his  side,  and  running  across  a field,  met 
Rose  full  at  the  next  turn  of  the  road. 

She  started,  and  gave  a pretty  little  shriek. 

“ Mr.  Leigh  ! I thought  you  had  gone  forward.” 

“ I came  back  to  speak  to  you,  Rose — Mistress  Salterne,  I 
mean.” 

“ To  me  ?” 

“To  you  I must  speak,  tell  you  all,  or  die!”  And  he 
pressed  up  close  to  her.  She  shrank  back  somewhat  fright- 
ened. 

“Do  not  stir;  do  not  go,  I implore  you  ! Rose,  only  hear 
me  !”  And  fiercely  and  passionately  seizing  her  by  the  hand, 
he  poured  out  the  whole  story  of  his  love,  heaping  her  with 
every  fantastic  epithet  of  admiration  which  he  could  devise. 

There  was  little,  perhaps,  of  all  his  words  which  Rose  had 
not  heard  many  a time  before ; but  there  was  a quiver  in  his 
voice,  and  a fire  in  his  eye,  from  which  she  shrank  by  instinct. 

“Let  me  go  !”  she  said;  “you  are  too  rough,  sir  !” 

“Ay!”  he  said,  seizing  now  both  her  hands,  “rougher, 
perhaps,  than  the  gay  gallants  of  Bideford,  who  serenade  you, 
and  write  sonnets  to  you,  and  send  you  posies.  Rougher,  but 
more  loving,  Rose  ! Do  not  turn  away  ! I shall  die  if  you 
take  your  eyes  off  me  ! Tell  me, — tell  me,  now  here — this 
moment — before  we  part — if  I may  love  you  !” 

“Go  away!”  she  answered,  struggling,  and  bursting  into 
tears.  “ This  is  too  rude.  If  I am  but  a merchant’s  daughter, 
I am  God's  child.  Remember  that  I am  alone.  Leave  me ; 
go  ! or  I will  call  for  help  ! ” 

Eustace  had  heard  or  read  somewhere  that  such  expressions 
in  a woman’s  mouth  were  mere  fagons  de  parler , and  on  the 
whole  signs  that  she  had  no  objection  to  be  alone,  and  did  not 
intend  to  call  for  help ; and  he  only  grasped  her  hands  the 
more  fiercely,  and  looked  into  her  face  with  keen  and  hungry 
eyes  ; but  she  was  in  earnest,  nevertheless,  and  a loud  shriek 
made  him  aware  that,  if  he  wished  to  save  his  own  good  name, 
he  must  go  : but  there  was  one  question,  for  an  answer  to 
which  he  would  risk  his  very  life. 

“ Yes,  proud  woman  ! I thought  so  ! Some  one  of  those 
gay  gallants  has  been  beforehand  with  me.  Tell  me  who ” 

But  she  broke  from  him,  and  passed  him,  and  fled  down 
the  lane. 

“Mark  it  !”  cried  he,  after  her.  “You  shall  rue  the  day 
when  you  despised  Eustace  Leigh  ! Mark  it,  proud  beauty  !” 


Moorwin  stow . 


CHAP.  IV.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  75 

And  he  turned  back  to  join  Campian,  who  stood  in  some  trepi- 
dation. 

“You  have  not  hurt  the  maiden,  my  son ? I thought  I 
heard  a scream.” 

“Hurt  her  ! No.  Would  God  that  she  were  dead,  never- 
theless, and  I by  her  ! Say  no  more  to  me,  father.  We  will 
home.”  Even  Campian  knew  enough  of  the  world  to  guess 
what  had  happened,  and  they  both  hurried  home  in  silence. 

And  so  Eustace  Leigh  played  his  move,  and  lost  it. 

Poor  little  Rose,  having  run  nearly  to  Chapel,  stopped  for 
very  shame,  and  walked  quietly  by  the  cottages  which  stood 
opposite  the  gate,  and  then  turned  up  the  lane  towards  Moor- 
winstow  village,  whither  she  was  bound.  But  on  second 
thoughts,  she  felt  herself  so  “red  and  flustered,”  that  she  was 
afraid  of  going  into  the  village,  for  fear  (as  she  said  to  herself) 
of  making  people  talk,  and  so,  turning  into  a by-path,  struck 
away  toward  the  cliffs,  to  cool  her  blushes  in  the  sea-breeze. 
And  there  finding  a quiet  grassy  nook  beneath  the  crest  of  the 
rocks,  she  sat  down  on  the  turf,  and  fell  into  a great  meditation. 

Rose  Salterne  was  a thorough  specimen  of  a West-coast 
maiden,  full  of  passionate  impulsive  affections,  and  wild  dreamy 
imaginations,  a fit  subject,  as  the  North-Devon  women  are  still, 
for  all  romantic  and  gentle  superstitions.  Left  early  without 
a mother’s  care,  she  had  fed  her  fancy  upon  the  legends  and 
ballads  of  her  native  land,  till  she  believed — what  did  she  not 
believe  1 — of  mermaids  and  pixies,  charms  and  witches,  dreams 
and  omens,  and  all  that  world  of  magic  in  which  most  of  the 
countrywomen,  and  countrymen  too,  believed  firmly  enough  but 
twenty  years  ago.  Then  her  father’s  house  was  seldom  without 
some  merchant,  or  sea-captain  from  foreign  parts,  who,  like 
Othello,  had  his  tales  of — 

“ Antres  vast,  and  deserts  idle, 

Of  rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads  reach  heaven.” 

And, — 

“ And  of  the  cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 

The  anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.  ” 

All  which  tales,  she,  like  Desdemona,  devoured  with  greedy  ears, 
whenever  she  could  “ the  house  affairs  with  haste  despatch.” 
And  when  these  failed,  there  was  still  boundless  store  of  wonders 
open  to  her  in  old  romances  which  were  then  to  be  found  in 
every  English  house  of  the  better  class.  The  Legend  of  King 
Arthur,  Florice  and  Blancheflour,  Sir  Ysumbras,  Sir  Guy  of 


76 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[ciiap.  IV. 

Warwick,  Palamon  and  Arcite,  and  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose, 
were  with  her  text-books  and  canonical  authorities.  And  lucky 
it  was,  perhaps,  for  her  that  Sidney’s  Arcadia  was  still  in  petto, 
or  Mr.  Frank  (who  had  already  seen  the  first  book  or  two  in 
manuscript,  and  extolled  it  above  all  books  past,  present,  or  to 
come)  would  have  surely  brought  a copy  down  for  Rose,  and 
thereby  have  turned  her  poor  little  flighty  brains  upside  down 
for  ever.  And  with  her  head  full  of'  these,  it  was  no  wonder 
if  she  had  likened  herself  of  late  more  than  once  to  some  of 
those  peerless  princesses  of  old,  for  whose  fair  hand  paladins 
and  kaisers  thundered  against  each  other  in  tilted  field ; and 
perhaps  she  would  not  have  been  sorry  (provided,  of  course,  no 
one  was  killed)  if  duels  and  passages  of  arms  in  honour  of  her, 
as  her  father  reasonably  dreaded,  had  actually  taken  place. 

For  Rose  was  not  only  well  aware  that  she  was  wooed,  but 
found  the  said  wooing  (and  little  shame  to  her)  a very  pleasant 
process.  Not  that  she  had  any  wish  to  break  hearts  : she  did 
not  break  her  heart  for  any  of  her  admirers,  and  why  should 
they  break  theirs  for  her  1 They  were  all  very  charming,  each 
in  his  way  (the  gentlemen,  at  least ; for  she  had  long  since 
learnt  to  turn  up  her  nose  at  merchants  and  burghers) ; but 
one  of  them  was  not  so  very  much  better  than  the  other. 

Of  course,  Mr.  Frank  Leigh  was  the  most  charming;  but 
then,  as  a courtier  and  squire  of  dames,  he  had  never  given  her 
a sign  of  real  love,  nothing  but  sonnets  and  compliments,  and 
there  was  no  trusting  such  things  from  a gallant,  who  was  said 
(though,  by  the  by,  most  scandalously)  to  have  a lady  love  at 
Milan,  and  another  at  Vienna,  and  half-a-dozen  in  the  Court, 
and  half-a-dozen  more  in  the  city. 

And  very  charming  was  Mr.  William  Cary,  with  his  quips 
and  his  jests,  and  his  galliards  and  lavoltas ; over  and  above 
his  rich  inheritance ; but  then,  charming  also  Mr.  Coffin  of 
Portledge,  though  he  were  a little  proud  and  stately;  but 
which  of  the  two  should  she  choose  ? It  would  be  very  plea- 
sant to  be  mistress  of  Clovelly  Court ; but  just  as  pleasant  to 
find  herself  lady  of  Portledge,  where  the  Coffins  had  lived  ever 
since  Noah’s  flood  (if,  indeed,  they  had  not  merely  returned 
thither  after  that  temporary  displacement),  and  to  bring  her 
wealth  into  a family  which  was  as  proud  of  its  antiquity  as  any 
nobleman  in  Devon,  and  might  have  made  a fourth  to  that 
famous  trio  of  Devonshire  Cs,  of  which  it  is  written, — 

“ Crocker,  Cruwys,  and  Copplestone, 

When  the  Conqueror  came  were  all  at  home.” 


CHAP.  IV.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  77 

And  Mr.  Hugh  Fortescue,  too — people  said  that  he  was 
certain  to  become  a great  soldier — perhaps  as  great  as  his 
brother  Arthur-® and  that  would  be  pleasant  enough,  too, 
though  he  was  but  the  younger  son  of  an  innumerable  family  : 
but  then,  so  was  Amyas  Leigh.  Ah,  poor  Amyas  ! Her  girls’ 
fancy  for  him  had  vanished,  or  rather,  perhaps,  it  was  very  much 
what  it  always  had  been,  only  that  four  or  five  more  girl’s 
fancies  beside  it  had  entered  in,  and  kept  it  in  due  subjection. 
But  still,  she  could  not  help  thinking  a good  deal  about  him, 
and  his  voyage,  and  the  reports  of  his  great  strength,  and 
beauty,  and  valour,  which  had  already  reached  her  in  that  out- 
of-the-way  corner  ; and  though  she  was  not  in  the  least  in  love 
with  him,  she  could  not  help  hoping  that  he  had  at  least  (to 
put  her  pretty  little  thought  in  the  mildest  shape)  not  alto- 
gether forgotten  her ; and  was  hungering,  too,  with  all  her 
fancy,  to  give  him  no  peace  till  he  had  told  her  all  the  wonder- 
ful things  which  he  had  seen  and  done  in  this  ever-memorable 
voyage.  So  that  altogether,  it  was  no  wonder,  if  in  her  last 
night’s  dream  the  figure  of  Amyas  had  been  even  more  forward 
and  troublesome  than  that  of  Frank  or  the  rest. 

But,  moreover,  another  figure  had  been  forward  and  trouble- 
some enough  in  last  night’s  sleep- world ; and  forward  and 
troublesome  enough,  too,  now  in  to-day’s  waking-world,  namely, 
Eustace,  the  rejected.  How  strange  that  she  should  have 
dreamt  of  him  the  night  before  ! and  dreamt,  too,  of  his  fight- 
ing with  Mr.  Frank  and  Mr.  Amyas  ! It  must  be  a warning 
— see,  she  had  met  him  the  very  next  day  in  this  strange  way ; 
so  the  first  half  of  her  dream  had  come  true  ; and  after  what 
had  past,  she  only  had  to  breathe  a whisper,  and  the  second 
part  of  the  dream  would  come  true  also.  If  she  wished  for  a 
passage  of  arms  in  her  own  honour,  she  could  easily  enough 
compass  one  : not  that  she  would  do  it  for  worlds  ! And  after 
all,  though  Mr.  Eustace  had  been  very  rude  and  naughty,  yet 
still  it  was  not  his  own  fault ; he  could  not  help  being  in  love 
with  her.  And — and,  in  short,  the  poor  little  maid  felt  herself 

one  of  the  most  important  personages  on  earth,  with  all  the 
cares  (or  hearts)  of  the  country  in  her  keeping,  and  as  much 
perplexed  with  matters  of  weight  as  ever  was  any  Cleophila,  or 
Dianeme,  Fiordispina  or  Flourdeluce,  in  verse  run  tame,  or 
prose  run  mad. 

Poor  little  Rose  ! Had  she  but  had  a mother ! But  she 
was  to  learn  her  lesson,  such  as  it  was,  in  another  school.  She 
was  too  shy  (too  proud  perhaps)  to  tell  her  aunt  her  mighty 


78 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[chap.  iv. 

troubles ; but  a counsellor  she  must  have ; and  after  sitting 
with  her  head  in  her  hands,  for  half-an-hour  or  more,  she  arose 
suddenly,  and  started  otf  along  the  cliffs  towards  Marsland.  She 
would  go  and  see  Lucy  Passmore,  the  white  witch ; Lucy  knew 
everything;  Lucy  would  tell  her  what  to  do;  perhaps  even 
whom  to  marry. 

Lucy  was  a fat,  jolly  woman  of  fifty,  with  little  pig-eyes, 
which  twinkled  like  sparks  of  fire,  and  eyebrows  which  sloped 
upwards  and  outwards,  like  those  of  a satyr,  as  if  she  had  been 
(as  indeed  she  had)  all  her  life  looking  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes.  Her  qualifications  as  white  witch  were  boundless  cunning, 
equally  boundless  good  nature,  considerable  knowledge  of  human 
weaknesses,  some  mesmeric  power,  some  skill  in  “ yarbs,”  as  she 
called  her  simples,  a firm  faith  in  the  virtue  of  her  own  incanta- 
tions, and  the  faculty  of  holding  her  tongue.  By  dint  of  these 
she  contrived  to  gain  a fair  share  of  money,  and  also  (which  she 
liked  even  better)  of  power,  among  the  simple  folk  for  many 
miles  round.  If  a child  was  scalded,  a tooth  ached,  a piece  of 
silver  was  stolen,  a heifer  shrew-struck,  a pig  bewitched,  a young 
damsel  crost  in  love,  Lucy  was  called  in,  and  Lucy  found  a 
remedy,  especially  for  the  latter  complaint.  Now  and  then  she 
found  herself  on  ticklish  ground,  for  the  kind-heartedness  which 
compelled  her  to  help  all  distressed  damsels  out  of  a scrape, 
sometimes  compelled  her  also  to  help  them  into  one ; whereon 
enraged  fathers  called  Lucy  ugly  names,  and  threatened  to  send 
her  into  Exeter  gaol  for  a witch,  and  she  smiled  quietly,  and 
hinted  that  if  she  were  “ like  some  that  were  ready  to  return 
evil  for  evil,  such  talk  as  that  would  bring  no  blessing  on  them 
that  spoke  it ; ” which  being  translated  into  plain  English,  meant, 
“ If  you  trouble  me,  I will  overlook  (i.e.  fascinate)  you,  and 'then 
your  pigs  will  die,  your  horses  stray,  your  cream  turn  sour,  your 
barns  be  fired,  your  son  have  St.  Vitus’s  dance,  your  daughter 
fits,  and  so  on,  woe  on  woe,  till  you  are  very  probably  starved 
to  death  in  a ditch,  by  virtue  of  this  terrible  little  eye  of  mine, 
at  which,  in  spite  of  all  your  swearing  and  bullying,  you  know 
you  are  now  shaking  in  your  shoes  for  fear.  So  you  had  much 
better  hold  your  tongue,  give  me  a drink  of  cider,  and  leave  ill 
alone,  lest  you  make  it  worse.” 

Not  that  Lucy _ever  proceeded  to  any  such  fearful  extremities. 
On  the  contrary,  her  boast,  and  her  belief  too,  was,  that  she  was 
sent  into  the  world  to  make  poor  souls  as  happy  as  she  could, 
by  lawful  means,  of  course,  if  possible,  but  if  not— why  unlawful 
ones  were  better  than  none  ; for  she  “ couldn’t  abear  to  see  the 


BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE. 


79 


CHAP.  IV.] 

poor  creatures  taking  on ; she  was  too,  too  tender-hearted.”  And 
so  she  was,  to  every  one  but  her  husband,  a tall,  simple-hearted 
rabbit-faced  man,  a good  deal  older  than  herself.  Fully  agreeing 
with  Sir  Richard  Grenvile’s  great  axiom,  that  he  who  cannot 
obey  cannot  rule,  Lucy  had  been  for  the  last  five-and-twenty 
years  training  him  pretty  smartly  to  obey  her,  with  the  intention, 
it  is  to  be  charitably  hoped,  of  letting  him  rule  her  in  turn  when 
his  lesson  was  perfected.  He  bore  his  honours,  however,  meekly 
enough,  having  a boundless  respect  for  his  wife’s  wisdom,  and  a 
firm  belief  in  her  supernatural  powers,  'and  let  her  go  her  own 
way  and  earn  her  own  money,  while  he  got  a little  more  in  a 
truly  pastoral  method  (not  extinct  yet  along  those  lonely  cliffs), 
by  feeding  a herd  of  some  dozen  donkeys  and  twenty  goats.  The 
donkeys  fetched,  at  each  low-tide,  white  shell-sand  which  was 
to  be  sold  for  manure  to  the  neighbouring  farmers ; the  goats 
furnished  milk  and  “ kiddy-pies and  when  there  was  neither 
milking  nor  sand^carrying  to  be  done,  old  Will  Passmore  just 
sat  under  a sunny  rock  and  watched  the  buck-goats  rattle  their 
horns  together,  thinking  about  nothing  at  all,  and  taking  very 
good  care  all  the  while  neither  to  inquire  nor  to  see  who  came 
in  and  out  of  his  little  cottage  in  the  glen. 

The  Prophetess,  when  Rose  approached  her  oracular  cave,  was 
seated  on  a tripod  in  front  of  the  fire,  distilling  strong  waters 
out  of  penny  royal.  But  no  sooner  did  her  distinguished  visitor 
appear  at  the  hatch,  than  the  still  was  left  to  take  care  of  itself, 
and  a clean  apron  and  mutch  having  been  slipt  on,  Lucy  welcomed 
Rose  with  endless  courtesies,  and — “ Bless  my  dear  soul  alive, 
who  ever  would  have  thought  to  see  the  Rose  of  Torridge  to 
my  poor  little  place  !” 

Rose  sat  down  : and  then  1 How  to  begin  was  more  than 
she  knew,  and  she  stayed  silent  a full  five  minutes,  looking 
earnestly  at  the  point  of  her  shoe,  till  Lucy,  who  was  an  adept  in 
such  cases,  thought  it  best  to  proceed  to  business  at  once,  and 
save  Rose  the  delicate  operation  of  opening  the  ball  herself ; and 
so,  in  her  own  way,  half  fawning,  half  familiar — 

“ Well,  my  dear  young  lady,  and  what  is  it  I can  do  for  ye  1 
For  I guess  you  want  a bit  of  old  Lucy’s  help,  eh  ? Though  I’m 
most  mazed  to  see  ye  here,  surely.  I should  have  supposed  that 
pretty  face  could  manage  they  sort  of  matters  for  itself.  Eh  ?” 

Rose,  thus  bluntly  charged,  confessed  at  once,  and  with  many 
blushes  and  hesitations,  made  her  soon  understand  that  what  she 
wanted  was  “ To  have  her  fortune  told.” 

“ Eh  1 Oh  ! I see.  The  pretty  face  has  managed  it  a bit 


80 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[chap.  IV. 

too  well  already,  eh  ? Tu  many  o’mun,  pure  fellows  '?  Well, 
tain’t  every  mayden  lias  her  pick  and  choose,  like  some  I know 
of,  as  be  blest  in  love  by  stars  above.  So  you  h’aint  made  up 
your  mind,  then  1” 

Rose  shook  her  head. 

“ Ah — well,”  she  went  on,  in  a half  bantering  tone.  “ Not  so 
asy,  is  it,  then  1 One’s  gude  for  one  thing,  and  one  for  another, 
eh  ? One  has  the  blood,  and  another  the  money.” 

And  so  the  “ cunning  woman  ” (as  she  truly  was),  talking 
half  to  herself,  ran  over  all  the  names  which  she  thought  likely, 
peering  at  Rose  all  the  while  out  of  the  corners  of  her  foxy 
bright  eyes,  while  Rose  stirred  the  peat  ashes  steadfastly  with  the 
point  of  her  little  shoe,  half  angry,  half  ashamed,  half  frightened, 
to  find  that  “ the  cunning  woman  ” had  guessed  so  well  both  her 
suitors  and  her  thoughts  about  them,  and  tried  to  look  uncon- 
cerned at  each  name  as  it  came  out. 

“ Well,  well,”  said  Lucy,  who  took  nothing  by  her  move, 
simply  because  there  was  nothing  to  take  ; “ think  over  it — 
think  over  it,  my  dear  life ; and  if  you  did  set  your  mind  on 
any  one — why,  then — then  maybe  I might  help  you  to  a sight 
of  him.” 

“ A sight  of  him  V’ 

“ His  sperrit,  dear  life,  his  sperrit  only,  I mane.  I ’udn’t 
have  no  keeping  company  in  my  house,  no,  not  for  gowld  un- 
towld,  I ’udn’t ; but  the  sperrit  of  mun — to  see  whether  mun 
would  be  true  or  not,  you’d  like  to  know  that,  now,  ’udn’t  you, 
my  darling1?” 

Rose  sighed,  and  stirred  the  ashes  about  vehemently. 

“ I must  first  know  who  it  is  to  be.  If  you  could  show  me 
that — now ” 

“ Oh,  I can  show  ye  that,  tu,  I can.  Ben  there’s  a way  to ’t, 
a sure  way ; but  ’tis  mortal  cold  for  the  time  o’  year,  you  zee.” 

“ But  what  is  it,  then  V’  said  Rose,  who  had  in  her  heart 
been  longing  for  something  of  that  very  kind,  and  had  half  made 
up  her  mind  to  ask  for  a charm. 

“ Why,  you’m  not  afraid  to  goo  into  the  say  by  night  for  a 
minute,  are  you  1 And  to-morrow  night  would  serve,  too  ; ’twill 
be  just  low  tide  to  midnight.” 

“ If  you  would  come  with  me  perhaps ” 

“ I’ll  come,  I’ll  come,  and  stand  within  call,  to  be  sure.  Only 
do  ye  mind  this,  dear  soul  alive,  not  to  goo  telling  a crumb  about 
mun,  noo,  not  for  the  world,  or  yu’ll  see  nought  at  all,  indeed, 
now.  And  beside,  there’s  a noxious  business  grow’d  up  against 


CHAP,  iv.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  81 

me  up  to  Chapel  there ; and  I hear  tell  how  Mr.  Leigh  saith  I 
shall  to  Exeter  gaol  for  a witch — did  ye  ever  hear  the  likes  ? — 
because  his  groom  Jan  saith  I overlooked  mun — the  Papist  dog! 
t And  now  never  he  nor  th’  owld  Father  Francis  goo  by  me  with- 
out a spetting,  and  saying  of  their  Aves  and  Malificas — I do 
know  what  their  Rooman  Latin  do  mane,  zo  well  as  ever  they, 
I du  ! — and  a making  o’  their  charms  and  incantations  to  their 
saints  and  idols  ! They  be  mortal  feared  of  witches,  they 
Papists,  and  mortal  hard  on  ’em,  even  on  a pure  body  like 
me,  that  doth  a bit  in  the  white  way ; ’case  why  you  see, 
dear  life,”  said  she,  with  one  of  her  humorous  twinkles,  “ tu 
to  a trade  do  never  agree.  Do  ye  try  my  bit  of  a charm,  now  ; 
do  ye  !” 

Rose  could  not  resist  the  temptation  ; and  between  them 
both  the  charm  was  agreed  on,  and  the  next  night  was  fixed 
for  its  trial,  on  the  payment  of  certain  current  coins  of  the 
realm  (for  Lucy,  of  course,  must  live  by  her  trade)  ; and  slip- 
ping a tester  into  the  dame’s  hand  as  earnest,  Rose  went  away 
home,  and  got  there  in  safety. 

But  in  the  meanwhile,  at  the  very  hour  that  Eustace  had 
been  prosecuting  his  suit  in  the  lane  at  Moorwinstow,  a very 
different  scene  was  being  enacted  in  Mrs.  Leigh’s  room  at 
Burrough. 

For  the  night  before,  Amyas,  as  he  was  going  to  bed,  heard 
his  brother  Frank  in  the  next  room  tune  his  lute,  and  then 
begin  to  sing.  And  both  their  windows  being  open,  and  only 
a thin  partition  between  the  chambers,  Amyas’s  admiring  ears 
came  in  for  every  word  of  the  following  canzonet,  sung  in  that 
delicate  and  mellow  tenor  voice  for  which  Frank  was  famed 
among  all  fair  ladies  : — - 

“ Ah,  tyrant  Love,  Megsera’s  serpents  hearing, 

Why  thus  requite  my  sighs  with  venom’d  smart  ? 

Ah,  ruthless  dove,  the  vulture’s  talons  wearing, 

Why  flesh  them,  traitress,  in  this  faithful  heart  ? 

Is  this  my  meed  ? Must  dragons’  teeth  alone 

In  Venus’  lawns  by  lovers’  hands  be  sown  ? 

“ Nay,  gentlest  Cupid  ; ’twas  my  pride  undid  me ; 

Nay,  guiltless  dove  ; by  mine  own  wound  I fell. 

To  worship,  not  to  wed,  Celestials  bid  me  : 

I dreamt  to  mate  in  heaven,  and  wake  in  hell ; 

For  ever  doom’d,  Ixion-like,  to  reel' 

On  mine  own  passions’  ever-burning  wheel.” 

At  which  the  simple  sailor  sighed,  and  longed  that  he 
could  write  such  neat  verses,  and  sing  them  so  sweetly.  How 

G 


82 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[chap.  IV. 

he  would  besiege  the  ear  of  Rose  Salterne  with  amorous  ditties  \ 
But  still,  he  could  not  be  everything ; and  if  he  had  the  bone 
and  muscle  of  the  family,  it  was  but  fair  that  Frank  should 
have  the  brains  and  voice  ; and,  after  all,  he  was  bone  of  his 
bone  and  flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  it  was  just  the  same  as  if  he  him- 
self could  do  all  the  fine  things  which  Frank  could  do  ; for  as  long 
as  one  of  the  family  won  honour,  what  matter  which  of  them  it 
was  ? Whereon  he  shouted  through  the  wall,  “ Good  night, 
old  song-thrush ; I suppose  I need  not  pay  the  musicians.” 

“What,  awake1?”  answered  Frank.  “Come  in  here,  and 
lull  me  to  sleep  with  a sea-song  ” 

So  Amyas  went  in,  and  found  Frank  laid  on  the  outside  of 
his  bed  not  yet  undrest. 

“ I am  a bad  sleeper,”  said  he ; “ I spend  more  time,  I fear, 
in  burning  the  midnight  oil  than  prudent  men  should.  Come 
and  be  my  jongleur,  my  minne-singer,  and  tell  me  about  Andes, 
and  cannibals,  and  the  ice-regions,  and  the  fire-regions,  and  the 
paradises  of  the  West.” 

So  Amyas  sat  down,  and  told  : but  somehow,  every  story 
which  he  tried  to  tell  came  round,  by  crooked  paths,  yet  sure, 
to  none  other  point  than  Rose  Salterne,  and  how  he  thought  of 
her  here  and  thought  of  her  there,  and  how  he  wondered  what 
she  would  say  if  she  had  seen  him  in  this  adventure,  and  how  he 
longed  to  have  had  her  with  him  to  show  her  that  glorious  sight, 
till  Frank  let  him  have  his  own  way,  and  then  out  came  the  whole 
story  of  the  simple  fellow’s  daily  and  hourly  devotion  to  her, 
through  those  three  long  years  of  world-wide  wanderings. 

“ And  oh,  Frank,  I could  hardly  think  of  anything  but  her 
in  the  church  the  other  day,  God  forgive  me  ! and  it  did  seem 
so  hard  for  her  to  be  the  only  face  which  I did  not  see — and 
have  not  seen  her  yet,  either.” 

“So  I thought,  dear  lad,”  said  Frank,  with  one  of  his 
sweetest  smiles  ; “ and  tried  to  get  her  father  to  let  her  imper- 
sonate the  nymph  of  Torridge.” 

“ Did  you,  you  dear  kind  fellow  ? That  would  have  been 
too  delicious.” 

“Just  so,  too  delicious;  wherefore,  I suppose,  it  was 
ordained  not  to  be,  that  which  was  being  delicious  enough.” 

“ And  is  she  as  pretty  as  ever  ?” 

“ Ten  times  as  pretty,  dear  lad,  as  half  the  young  fellows 
round  have  discovered.  If  you  mean  to  win  her  and  wear  her 
(and  God  grant  you  may  fare  no  worse  !)  you  will  have  rivals 
enough  to  get  rid  of.” 


CHAP.  IV.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  83 

“Humph  !”  said  Amyas,  “ I hope  I shall  not  have  to  make 
short  work  with  some  of  them.” 

“I  hope  not,”  said  Frank,  laughing.  “Now  go  to  bed,  and 
to-morrow  morning  give  your  sword  to  mother  to  keep,  lest  you 
should  be  tempted  to  draw  it  on  any  of  her  Majesty’s  lieges.” 

“No  fear  of  that,  Frank ; I am  no  swash-buckler,  thank 
God ; but  if  any  one  gets  in  my  way,  I’ll  serve  him  as  the 
mastiff  did  the  terrier,  and  just  drop  him  over  the  quay  into 
the  river,  to  cool  himself,  or  my  name’s  not  Amyas.” 

And  the  giant  swung  himself  laughing  out  of  the  room,  and 
slept  all  night  like  a seal,  not  without  dreams,  of  course,  of 
Eose  Salterne. 

The  next  morning,  according  to  his  wont,  he  went  into  his 
mother’s  room,  whom  he  was  sure  to  find  up  and  at  her  prayers  ; 
for  he  liked  to  say  his  prayers,  too,  by  her  side,  as  he  used  to 
do  when  he  was  a little  boy.  It  seemed  so  homelike,  he  said, 
after  three  years’  knocking  up  and  down  in  no-man’s  land.  But 
coming  gently  to  the  door,  for  fear  of  disturbing  her,  and  enter- 
ing unperceived,  beheld  a sight  which  stopped  him  short. 

Mrs.  Leigh  was  sitting  in  her  chair,  with  her  face  bowed 
fondly  down  upon  the  head  of  his  brother  Frank,  who  knelt 
before  her,  his  face  buried  in  her  lap.  Amyas  could  see  that 
his  whole  form  was  quivering  with  stifled  emotion.  Their 
mother  was  just  finishing  the  last  words  of  a well-known  text — 
— “for  my  sake,  and  the  Gospel’s,  shall  receive  a hundredfold 
in  this  present  life,  fathers,  and  mothers,  and  brothers,  and 
‘sisters.” 

“But  not  a wife  !”  interrupted  Frank,  with  a voice  stifled 
with  sobs ; “ that  was  too  precious  a gift  for  even  Him  to 
promise  to  those  who  gave  up  a first  love  for  His  sake  !” 

“And  yet,”  said  he,  after  a moment’s  silence,  “has  He 
not  heaped  me  with  blessings  enough  already,  that  I must 
repine  and  rage  at  His  refusing  me  one  more,  even  though  that 
one  be — No,  mother  ! I am  your  son,  and  God’s  ; and  you  shall 
know  it,  even  though  Amyas  never  does  !”  And  he  looked  up 
with  his  clear  blue  eyes  and  white  forehead ; and  his  face  was 
as  the  face  of  an  angel. 

Both  of  them  saw  that  Amyas  was  present,  and  started  and 
blushed.  His  mother  motioned  him  away  with  her  eyes,  and 
he  went  quietly  out,  as  one  stunned.  Why  had  his  name  been 
mentioned  h 

Love,  cunning  love,  told  him  all  a*  once.  This  was  the 
meaning  of  last  night’s  canzonet  ! This  was  why  its  words 


84 


THE  TWO  WAYS  OF 


[CHAP.  IV. 

had  seemed  to  fit  his  own  heart  so  well  ! His  brother  was  his 
rival.  And  he  had  been  telling  him  all  his  love  last  night. 
What  a stupid  brute  he  was  S How  it  must  have  made  poor 
Frank  wince  ! And  then  Frank  had  listened  so  kindly;  even 
bid  him  God  speed  in  his  suit.  What  a gentleman  old  Frank 
was,  to  be  sure  ! No  wonder  the  Queen  was  so  fond  of  him, 

and  all  the  Court  ladies  ! Why,  if  it  came  to  that,  what 

wonder  if  Rose  Salterne  should  be  fond  of  him  too  ? Hey-day  ! 
“ That  would  be  a pretty  fish  to  find  in  my  net  when  I come 
to  haul  it !”  quoth  Amyas  to  himself,  as  he  paced  the  garden; 
and  clutching  desperately  hold  of  his  locks  with  both  hands,  as 
if  to  hold  his  poor  confused  head  on  its  shoulders,  he  strode 
and  tramped  up  and  down  the  shell-paved  garden  walks  for  a 
full  half  hour,  till  Frank’s  voice  (as  cheerful  as  ever,  though  he 
more  than  suspected  all)  called  him. 

“ Come  in  to  breakfast,  lad  ; and  stop  grinding  and  creaking 
upon  those  miserable  limpets,  before  thou  hast  set  every  tooth 
in  my  head  on  edge  !” 

Amyas,  whether  by  dint  of  holding  his  head  straight,  or  by 
higher  means,  had  got  the  thoughts  of  the  said  head  straight 
enough  by  this  time ; and  in  he  came,  and  fell  to  upon  the 
broiled  fish  and  strong  ale,  with  a sort  of  fury,  as  determined 
to  do  his  duty  to  the  utmost  in  all  matters  that  day ; and 
therefore,  of  course,  in  that  most  important  matter  of  bodily 
sustenance ; while  his  mother  and  Frank  looked  at  him,  not 
without  anxiety  and  even  terror,  doubting  what  turn  his  fancy 
might  have  taken  in  so  new  a case ; at  last — 

“ My  dear  Amyas,  you  will  really  heat  your  blood  with  all 
that  strong  ale  ! Remember,  those  who  drink  beer,  think  beer.” 
“ Then  they  think  right  good  thoughts,  mother.  And  in 
the  meanwhile,  those  who  drink  water,  think  water.  Eh,  old 
Frank  ? and  here’s  your  health.” 

“ And  clouds  are  water,”  said  his  mother,  somewhat  reas- 
sured by  his  genuine  good  humour  ; “and  so  are  rainbows  ; and 
clouds  are  angels’  thrones,  and  rainbows  the  sign  of  God’s  peace 
on  earth.” 

Amyas  understood  the  hint,  and  laughed.  “Then  I’ll 
pledge  Frank  out  of  the  next  ditch,  if  it  please  you  and  him. 
But  first — I say — he  must  hearken  to  a parable ; a manner 
mystery,  miracle  play,  I have  got  in  my  head,  like  what  they 
have  at  Easter,  to  the  town-hall.  Now  then,  hearken,  madam, 
and  I and  Frank  will  act.”  And  up  rose  Amyas,  and  shoved 
back  his  chair,  and  put  on  a solemn  face. 


CHAP.  IV.]  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  85 

Mrs.  Leigh  looked  up,  trembling ; and  Frank,  he  scarce 
knew  why,  rose. 

“No;  you  pitch  again.  You  are  King  David,  and  sit  still 
upon  your  throne.  David  was  a great  singer,  you  know,  and  a 
player  on  the  viols  ; and  ruddy,  too,  and  of  a fair  countenance  ; 
so  that  will  fit.  Now,  then,  mother,  don’t  look  so  frightened. 
I am  not  going  to  play  Goliath,  for  ail  my  cubits  ; I am  to  pre- 
sent Nathan  the  prophet.  Now,  David,  hearken,  for  I have  a 
message  unto  thee,  0 King  ! 

“ There  were  two  men  in  one  city,  one  rich,  and  the  other 
poor  : and  the  rich  man  had  many  flocks  and  herds,  and  all  the 
fine  ladies  in  Whitehall  to  court  if  he  liked  ; and  the  poor  man 
had  nothing  but ” 

And  in  spite  of  his  broad  honest  smile,  Amyas’s  deep  voice 
began  to  tremble  and  choke. 

Frank  sprang  up,  and  burst  into  tears  : — “ Oh  ! Anayas,  my 
brother,  my  brother  ! stop  ! I cannot  endure  this.  Oh,  God  ! 
was  it  not  enough  to  have  entangled  myself  in  this  fatal  fancy, 
but  over  and  above,  I must  meet  the  shame  of  my  brother’s 
discovering  it  f ’ 

“ What  shame,  then,  I’d  like  to  know  V’  said  Amyas, 
recovering  himself.  “ Look  here,  brother  Frank  ! I’ve  thought 
it  all  over  in  the  garden ; and  I was  an  ass  and  a braggart  for 
talking  to  you  as  I did  last  night.  Of  course  you  love  her ! 
Everybody  must ; and  I was  a fool  for  not  recollecting  that; 
and  if  you  love  her,  your  taste  and  mine  agree,  and  what  can 
be  better  ? I think  you  are  a sensible  fellow  for  loving  her, 
and  you  think  me  one.  And  as  for  who  has  her,  why,  you’re 
the  eldest ; and  first  come  first  served  is  the  rule,  and  best  to 
keep  to  it.  Besides,  brother  Frank,  though  I’m  no  scholar,  yet 
I’m  not  so  blind  but  that  I tell  the  difference  between  you  and 
me ; and  of  course  your  chance  against  mine,  for  a hundred  to 
one  ; and  I am  not  going  to  be  fool  enough  to  row  against  wind 
and  tide  too.  I’m  good  enough  for  her,  I hope  ; but  if  I am, 
you  are  better,  and  the  good  dog  may  run,  but  it’s  the  best 
that  takes  the  hare ; and  so  I have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
the  matter  at  all ; and  if  you  marry  her,  why,  it  will  set  the 
old  house  on  its  legs  again,  and  that’s  the  first  thing  to  be 
thought  of,  and  you  may  just  as  well  do  it  as  I,  and  better 
too.  Not  but  that  it’s  a plague,  a horrible  plague  !”  went  on 
Amyas,  with  a ludicrously  doleful  visage  ; “ but  so  are  other 
things  too,  by  the  dozen  ; it’s  all  in  the  day’s  work,  as  the 
huntsman  said  when  the  lion  ate  him.  One  would  never  get 


86  THE  TWO  WAYS  OF  BEING  CROST  IN  LOVE.  [chap.  IV. 

through  the  furze-croft  if  one  stopped  to  pull  out  the  prickles. 
The  pig  didn’t  scramble  out  of  the  ditch  by  squeaking ; and 
the  less  said  the  sooner  mended  ; nobody  was  sent  into  the 
world  only  to  suck  honey-pots.  What  must  be  must,  man  is 
but  dust ; if  you  can’t  get  crumb,  you  must  fain  eat  crust.  So 
I’ll  go  and  join  the  army  in  Ireland,  and  get  it  out  of  my  head, 
for  cannon  balls  fright  away  love  as  well  as  poverty  does;  and 
that’s  all  I’ve  got  to  say.”  Wherewith  Amyas  sat  down,  and 
returned  to  the  beer ; while  Mrs.  Leigh  wept  tears  of  joy. 

“ Amyas  ! Amyas!”  said  Frank;  “you  must  not  throw 
away  the  hopes  of  years,  and  for  me,  too  ! Oh,  how  just  was 
your  parable  ! Ah  ! mother  mine ! to  what  use  is  all  my 
scholarship  and  my  philosophy,  when  this  dear  simple  sailor- 
lad  outdoes  me  at  the  first  trial  of  courtesy  !” 

“ My  children,  my  children,  which  of  you  shall  I love  best  ? 
Which  of  you  is  the  more  noble  ? I thanked  God  this  morning 
for  having  given  me  one  such  son ; but  to  have  found  that  I 
possess  two  !”  And  Mrs.  Leigh  laid  her  head  on  the  table,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  generous  battle  went  on. 
“ But,  dearest  Amyas  ! ” 

“ But,  Frank  ! if  you  don’t  hold  your  tongue,  I must  go 
forth.  It  was  quite  trouble  enough  to  make  up  one’s  mind, 
without  having  you  afterwards  trying  to  unmake  it  again.” 

“ Amyas  ! if  you  give  her  up  to  me,  God  do  so  to  me,  and 
more  also,  if  I do  not  hereby  give  her  up  to  you  ! ” 

“He  had  done  it  already — this  morning !”  said  Mrs.  Leigh, 
looking  up  through  her  tears.  “ He  renounced  her  for  ever  on 
his  knees  before  me  ! only  he  is  too  noble  to  tell  you  so.” 

“ The  more  reason  I should  copy  him,”  said  Amyas,  setting 
his  lips,  and  trying  to  look  desperately  determined,  and  then 
suddenly  jumping  up,  he  leaped  upon  Frank,  and  throwing  his 
arms  round  his  neck,  sobbed  out,  “There,  there,  now!  For 
God’s  sake,  let  us  forget  all,  and  think  about  our  mother,  and 
the  old  house,  and  how  we  may  win  her  honour  before  we  die  ! 
and  that  will  be  enough  to  keep  our  hands  full,  without  fret- 
ting about  this  woman  and  that. — What  an  ass  I have  been  for 
years  ! instead  of  learning  my  calling,  dreaming  about  her,  and 
don’t  know  at  this  minute  whether  she  cares  more  for  me  than 
she  does  for  her  father’s  ’prentices  !” 

“ Oh,  Amyas  ! every  word  of  yours  puts  me  to  fresh  shame ! 
Will  you  believe  that  I know  as  little  of  her  likings  as  you  do?” 
“ Don’t  tell  me  that,  and  play  the  devil’s  game  by  putting 
fresh  hopes  into  me,  when  I am  trying  to  kick  them  out.  I 


CHAP.  V.]  CLOVELLY  COURT  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  87 

won’t  believe  it.  If  she  is  not  a fool,  she  must  love  you ; and 
if  she  don’t,  why,  behanged  if  she  is  worth  loving!” 

“ My  dearest  Amyas  ! I must  ask  you  too  to  make  no  more 
such  speeches  to  me.  All  those  thoughts  I have  forsworn.” 

“ Only  this  morning  • so  there  is  time  to  catch  them  again 
before  they  are  gone  too  far.” 

“ Only  this  morning,”  said  Frank,  with  a quiet  smile  : “but 
centuries  have  passed  since  then.” 

“ Centuries  1 I don’t  see  many  grey  hairs  yet.” 

“ I should  not  have  been  surprised  if  you  had,  though,” 
answered  Frauk,  in  so  sad  and  meaning  a tone  that  Amyas 
could  only  answer — 

“ Well,  you  are  an  angel !” 

“ You,  at  least,  are  something  even  more  to  the  purpose,  for 
you  are  a man !” 

And  both  spoke  truth,  and  so  the  battle  ended ; and  Frank 
went  to  his  books,  while  Amyas,  who  must  needs  be  doing,  if 
he  was  not  to  dream,  started  off  to  the  dockyard  to  potter  about 
a new  ship  of  Sir  Richard’s,  and  forget  his  woes,  in  the  capacity 
of  Sir  Oracle  among  the  sailors.  And  so  he  had  played  his 
move  for  Rose,  even  as  Eustace  had,  and  lost  her  : but  not  as 
Eustace  had. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

CLOVELLY  COURT  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 

“ It  was  among  the  ways  of  good  Queen  Bess, 

Who  ruled  as  well  as  ever  mortal  can,  sir, 

When  she  was  stogg’d,  and  the  country  in  a mess, 

She  was  wont  to  send  for  a Devon  man,  sir.” 

West  Country  Song. 

The  next  morning  Amyas  Leigh  was  not  to  be  found.  Not 
that  he  had  gone  out  to  drown  himself  in  despair,  or  even  to 
bemoan  himself  “down  by  the  Torridge  side.”  He  had  simply 
ridden  off,  Frank  found,  to  Sir  Richard  Grenvile  at  Stow : his 
mother  at  once  divined  the  truth,  that  he  was  gone  to  try  for  a 
post  in  the  Irish  army,  and  sent  off  Frank  after  him  to  bring 
him  home  again,  and  make  him  at  least  reconsider  himself. 

So  Frank  took  horse  and  rode  thereon  ten  miles  or  more  : 
and  then,  as  there  were  no  inns  on  the  road  in  those  days,  or 
indeed  in  these,  and  he  had  some  ten  miles  more  of  hilly  road 
before  him,  he  turned  down  the  hill  towards  Clovelly  Court,  to 


88 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[CHAP.  y. 

obtain,  after  the  hospitable  humane  fashion  of  those  days,  good 
entertainment  for  man  and  horse  from  Mr.  Cary  the  squire. 

And  when  he  walked  self-invited,  like  the  loud -shouting 
Menelaus,  in  the  long  dark  wainscoted  hall  of  the  Court,  the 
first  object  he  beheld  was  the  mighty  form  of  Amyas,  who, 
seated  at  the  long  table,  was  alternately  burying  his  face  in  a 
pasty,  and  the  pasty  in  his  face,  his  sorrows  having,  as  it  seemed, 
only  sharpened  his  appetite,  while  young  Will  Cary,  kneeling 
on  the  opposite  bench,  with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  was  in  that 
graceful  attitude  laying  down  the  law  fiercely  to  him  in  a low 
voice. 

“ Hillo  ! lad,”  cried  Amyas ; “ come  hither  and  deliver  me 
out  of  the  hands  of  this  fire-eater,  who  I verily  believe  will  kill 
me,  if  I do  not  let  him  kill  some  one  else.” 

“ Ah ! Mr.  Frank,”  said  Will  Cary,  who,  like  all  other  young 
gentlemen  of  these  parts,  held  Frank  in  high  honour,  and  con- 
sidered him  a very  oracle  and  cynosure  of  fashion  and  chivalry, 
“welcome  here:  I was  just  longing  for  you,  too;  I wanted 
your  advice  on  half-a-dozen  matters.  Sit  down,  and  eat.  Th6re 
is  the  ale.” 

“None  so  early,  thank  you.” 

“Ah  no!”  said  Amyas,  burying  his  head  in  the  tankard, 
and  then  mimicking  Frank,  “ avoid  strong  ale  o’  mornings.  It 
heats  the  blood,  thickens  the  animal  spirits,  and  obfuscates  the 
cerebrum  with  frenetical  and  lymphatic  idols,  which  cloud  the 
quintessential  light  of  the  pure  reason.  Eh  1 young  Plato, 
young  Daniel,  come  hither  to  judgment  ! And  yet,  though  I 
cannot  see  through  the  bottom  of  the  tankard  already,  I can 
see  plain  enough  still  to  see  this,  that  Will  shall  not  fight.” 

“ Shall  I not,  eh  ? who  says  that  1 Mr.  Frank,  I appeal  to 
you,  now  ; only  hear.” 

“ We  are  in  the  judgment-seat,”  said  Frank,  settling  to  the 
pasty.  “ Proceed,  appellant.” 

“ Well,  I was  telling  Amyas,  that  Tom  Coffin,  of  Portledge ; 
I will  stand  him  no  longer.” 

“Let  him  be,  then,”  said  Amyas;  “he  could  stand  very 
well  by  himself,  when  I saw  him  last.” 

“Plague  on  you,  hold  your  tongue.  Has  he  any  right  to 
look  at  me  as  he  does,  whenever  I pass  him  ?” 

“ That  depends  on  how  he  looks  ; a cat  may  look  at  a king, 
provided  she  don’t  take  him  for  a mouse.” 

“ Oh,  I know  how  he  looks,  and  what  he  means  too,  and 
he  shall  stop,  or  I will  stop  him.  And  the  other  day,  when  I 


CHAP.  V.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  89 

spoke  of  Rose  Salterne.” — “Ah!”  groaned  Frank,  “ Atk’s 
apple  again  !” — “ (never  mind  what  I said)  he  burst  out  laugh- 
ing in  my  face  ; and  is  not  that  a fair  quarrel  ? And  what  is 
more,  I know  that  he  wrote  a sonnet,  and  sent  it  to  her  to 
Stow  by  a market  woman.  What  right  has  he  to  write  sonnets 
when  I can’t1?  It’s  not  fair  play,  Mr.  Frank,  or  I am  a Jew, 
and  a Spaniard,  and  a Papist;  it’s  not!”  And  Will  smote 
the  table  till  the  plates  danced  again. 

“ My  dear  knight  of  the  burning  pestle,  I have  a plan,  a 
device,  a disentanglement,  according  to  most  approved  rules  of 
chivalry.  Let  us  fix  a day,  and  summon  by  tuck  of  drum  all 
young  gentlemen  under  the  age  of  thirty,  dwelling  within  fifteen 
miles  of  the  habitation  of  that  peerless  Oriana.” 

“ And  all  ’prentice-boys  too,”  cried  Amyas  out  of  the 
pasty. 

“ And  all  ’prentice-boys.  The  bold  lads  shall  fight  first, 
with  good  quarterstaves,  in  Bideford  Market,  till  all  heads  are 
broken  ; and  the  head  which  is  not  broken,  let  the  back  belong 
to  it  pay  the  penalty  of  the  noble  member’s  cowardice.  After 
which  grand  tournament,  to  which  that  of  Tottenham  shall  be 

but  a flea-bite  and  a batrachomyomachy ” 

“ Confound  you,  and  your  long  words,  sir,”  said  poor  Will, 
“ I know  you  are  flouting  me.” 

“ Pazienza,  Signor  Cavaliere ; that  which  is  to  come  is  no 
flouting,  but  bloody  and  warlike  earnest.  For  afterwards  all 
the  young  gentlemen  shall  adjourn  into  a convenient  field,  sand, 
or  bog — which  last  will  be  better,  as  no  man  will  be  able  to 
run  away,  if  he  be  up  to  his  knees  in  soft  peat : and  there 
stripping  to  our  shirts,  with  rapiers  of  equal  length  and  keenest 
temper,  each  shall  slay  his  man,  catch  who  catch  can,  and  the 
conquerors  fight  again,  like  a most  valiant  main  of  gamecocks 
as  we  are,  till  all  be  dead,  and  out  of  their  woes ; after  which 
the  survivor,  bewailing  before  heaven  and  earth  the  cruelty  of 
our  Fair  Oriana,  and  the  slaughter  which  her  basiliscine  eyes 
have  caused,  shall  fall  gracefully  upon  his  sword,  and  so  end 
the  woes  of  this  our  lovelorn  generation.  Placetne  Domini  ? 
as  they  used  to  ask  in  the  Senate  at  Oxford.” 

“ Really,”  said  Cary,  “ this  is  too  bad.” 

“ So  is,  pardon  me,  your  fighting  Mr.  Coffin  with  anything 
longer  than  a bodkin.” 

“ Bodkins  are  too  short  for  such  fierce  Bobadils,”  said 
Amyas  ; “ they  would  close  in  so  near,  that  we  should  have 
them  falling  to  fisticuffs  after  the  first  bout.” 


90 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[chap.  V. 

“ Then  let  them  fight  with  squirts  across  the  market-place ; 
for  by  heaven  and  the  queen’s  laws,  they  shall  fight  with 
nothing  else.” 

“ My  dear  Mr.  Cary,”  went  on  Frank,  suddenly  changing 
his  bantering  tone  to  one  of  the  most  winning  sweetness  ; “ do 
not  fancy  that  I cannot  feel  for  you  ; or  that  I,  as  well  as  you, 
have  not  known  the  stings  of  love  and  the  bitterer  stings  of 
jealousy.  But  oh,  Mr.  Cary,  does  it  not  seem  to  you  an  awful 
tiling  to  waste  selfishly  upon  your  own  quarrel  that  divine 
wrath  which,  as  Plato  says,  is  the  very  root  of  all  virtues,  and 
which  has  been  given  you,  like  all  else  which  you  have,  that 
you  may  spend  it  in  the  service  of  her  whom  all  bad  souls  fear, 
and  all  virtuous  souls  adore, — our  peerless  queen  ? Who  dares, 
while  she  rules  England,  call  his  sword  or  his  courage  his  own, 
or  any  one’s  but  hers.  Are  there  no  Spaniards  to  conquer,  no 
wild  Irish  to  deliver  from  their  oppressors,  that  two  gentlemen 
of  Devon  can  find  no  better  place  to  flesh  their  blades  than 
in  each  other’s  valiant  and  honourable  hearts  ?” 

“By  heaven  !”  cried  Amyas,  “Frank  speaks  like  a book; 
and  for  me,  I do  think  that  Christian  gentlemen  may  leave 
love  quarrels  to  bulls  and  rams.” 

“ And  that  the  heir  of  Clovelly,”  said  Frank,  smiling,  “may 
find  more  noble  examples  to  copy  than  the  stags  in  his  own 
deer-park.” 

“ Well,”  said  Will  penitently,  “you  are  a great  scholar,  Mr. 
Frank,  and  you  speak  like  one  ; but  gentlemen  must  fight 
sometimes,  or  where  would  be  their  honour.” 

“ I speak,”  said  Frank  a little  proudly,  “ not  merely  as  a 
scholar,  but  as  a gentleman,  and  one  who  has  fought  ere  now, 
and  to  whom  it  has  happened,  Mr.  Cary,  to  kill  his  man  (on 
whose  soul  may  God  have  mercy) ; but  it  is  my  pride  to 
remember  that  I have  never  yet  fought  in  my  own  quarrel,  and 
my  trust  in  God  that  I never  shall.  For  as  there  is  nothing 
more  noble  and  blessed  than  to  fight  in  behalf  of  those  whom 
we  love,  so  to  fight  in  our  own  private  behalf  is  a thing  not  to 
be  allowed  to  a Christian  man,  unless  refusal  imports  utter  loss 
of  life  or  honour ; and  even  then,  it  may  be  (though  I would, 
not  lay  a burden  on  any  man’s  conscience),  it  is  better  not  to 
resist  evil,  but  to  overcome  it  with  good.” 

“ And  I can  tell  you,  Will,”  said  Amyas,  “ I am  not  troubled 
with  fear  of  ghosts ; but  when  I cut  off  the  Frenchman’s 
head,  I said  to  myself,  ‘If  that  braggart  had  been  slander- 
ing me  instead  of  her  gracious  Majesty,  I should  expect  to 


CHAP,  v.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  91 

see  that  head  lying  on  my  pillow  every  time  I went  to  bed  at 
night.” 

“God  forbid!”  said  Will,  with  a shudder.  “But  what 
shall  I do  ? for  to  the  market  to-morrow  I will  go,  if  it  were 
choke-full  of  Coffins,  and  a ghost  in  each  coffin  of  the  lot.” 

“Leave  the  matter  to  me,”  said  Amyas.  “I  have  my 
device,  as  well  as  scholar  Frank  here  ; and  if  there  be,  as  I 
suppose  there  must  be,  a quarrel  in  the  market  to-morrow,  see 
if  I do  not ” 

“ Well,  you  are  two  good  fellows,”  said  Will.  “ Let  us 
have  another  tankard  in.” 

“ And  drink  the  health  of  Mr.  Coffin,  and  all  gallant  lads 
of  the  North,”  said  Frank  ; “and  now  to  my  business.  I have 
to  take  this  runaway  youth  here  home  to  his  mother ; and  if 
he  will  not  go  quietly,  I have  orders  to  carry  him  across  my 
saddle.” 

“ I hope  your  nag  has  a strong  back,  then,”  said  Amyas ; 
“ but  I must  go  on  and  see  Sir  Richard,  Frank.  It  is  all  very 
well  to  jest  as  we  have  been  doing,  but  my  mind  is  made  up.” 

“ Stop,”  said  Cary.  “ You  must  stay  here  to-night ; first, 
for  good  fellowship’s  sake ; and  next,  because  I want  the  advice 
of  our  Phoenix  here,  our  oracle,  our  paragon.  There,  Mr. 
Frank,  can  you  construe  that  for  me?  Speak  low,  though, 
gentlemen  both ; there  comes  my  father  • you  had  better  give 
me  the  letter  again.  Well,  father,  whence  this  morning?” 

“ Eh,  company  here  ? Young  men,  you  are  always  welcome, 
and  such  as  you.  Would  there  were  more  of  your  sort  in  these 
dirty  times.  How  is  your  good  mother,  Frank,  eh?  Where 
have  I been,  Will?  Round  the  house-farm,  to  look  at  the 
beeves.  That  sheeted  heifer  of  Prowse’s  is  all  wrong  ; her  coat 
stares  like  a hedgepig’s.  Tell  Jewell  to  go  up  and  bring  her  in 
before  night.  And  then  up  the  forty  acres  ; sprang  two  coveys, 
and  picked  a leash  out  of  them.  The  Irish  hawk  flies  as  wild 
as  any  haggard  still,  and  will  never  make  a bird.  I had  to 
hand  her  to  Tom,  and  take  the  little  peregrine.  Give  me 
a Clovelly  hawk  against  the  world,  after  all ; and — heigh 
ho,  I am  very  hungry!  Half-past  twelve,  and  dinner  not 
served  ? What,  Master  Amyas,  spoiling  your  appetite  with 
strong  ale  ? Better  have  tried  sack,  lad ; have  some  now 
with  me.” 

And  the  worthy  old  gentleman,  having  finished  his  oration, 
settled  himself  on  a great  bench  inside  the  chimney,  and  put 
his  hawk  on  a perch  over  his  head,  while  his  cockers  coiled 


92 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[chap.  y. 

themselves  up  close  to  the  warm  peat-ashes,  and  his  son  set  to 
work  to  pull  off  his  father’s  boots,  amid  sundry  warnings  to 
take  care  of  his  corns. 

“ Come,  Master  Amyas,  a pint  of  white  wine  and  sugar, 
and  a bit  of  a shoeing-horn  to  it  ere  we  dine.  Some  pickled 
prawns,  now,  or  a rasher  off  the  coals,  to  whet  you  ?” 

“ Thank  you,”  quoth  Amyas ; “ but  I have  drunk  a mort 
of  outlandish  liquors,  better  and  worse,  in  the  last  three  years, 
and  yet  never  found  aught  to  come  up  to  good  ale,  which  needs 
neither  shoeing-horn  before  nor  after,  but  takes  care  of  itself, 
and  of  all  honest  stomachs  too,  I think.” 

“ You  speak  like  a book,  boy,”  said  old  Cary  ■ “ and  after 
all,  what  a plague  comes  of  these  new-fangled  hot  wines,  and 
aqua  vitaes,  which  have  come  in  since  the  wars,  but  maddening 
of  the  brains,  and  fever  of  the  blood  ?” 

“I  fear  we  have  not  seen  the  end  of  that  yet,”  said  Frank. 
“ My  friends  write  me  from  the  Netherlands  that  our  men  are 
falling  into  a swinish  trick  of  swilling  like  the  Hollanders. 
Heaven  grant  that  they  may  not  bring  home  the  fashion  with 
them.” 

“ A man  must  drink,  they  say,  or  die  of  the  ague,  in  those 
vile  swamps,”  said  Amyas.  “ When  they  get  home  here,  they 
will  not  need  it.” 

“ Heaven  grant  it,”  said  Frank  ; “ I should  be  sorry  to  see 
Devonshire  a drunken  county  ; and  there  are  many  of  our  men 
out  there  with  Mr.  Champernoun.” 

“ Ah,”  said  Cary,  “ there,  as  in  Ireland,  we  are  proving  her 
Majesty’s  saying  true,  that  Devonshire  is  her  right  hand,  and 
the  young  children  thereof  like  the  arrows  in  the  hand  of  the 
giant.” 

“ They  may  well  be,”  said  his  son,  “ when  some  of  them  are 
giants  themselves,  like  my  tall  schoolfellow  opposite.” 

“ He  will  be  up  and  doing  again  presently,  I’ll  warrant 
him,”  said  old  Cary. 

‘‘And  that  I shall,”  quoth  Amyas.  “ I have  been  devising 
brave  deeds ; and  see  in  the  distance  enchanters  to  be  bound, 
dragons  choked,  empires  conquered,  though  not  in  Holland.” 

“ You  do  V * asked  Will  a little  sharply ; for  he  had  had 
a half  suspicion  that  more  was  meant  than  met  the  ear. 

“Yes,”  said  Amyas,  turning  off  his  jest  again,  “I  go  to 
what  Raleigh  calls  the  Land  of  the  Nymphs.  Another  month, 
I hope,  will  see  me  abroad  in  Ireland.” 

“ Abroad  ? Call  it  rather  at  home,”  said  old  Cary  ; “ for  it 


CHAP,  v.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  93 

is  full  of  Devon  men  from  end  to  end,  and  you  will  be  among 
friends  all  day  long.  George  Bourchier  from  Tawstock  has  the 
army  now  in  Munster,  and  Warham  St.  Leger  is  Marshal ; 
George  Carew  is  with  Lord  Grey  of  Wilton  (Poor  Peter  Carew 
was  killed  at  Glendalough) ; and  after  the  defeat  last  year, 
when  that  villain  Desmond  cut  off  Herbert  and  Price,  the  com- 
panies were  made  up  with  six  hundred  Devon  men,  and  Arthur 
Fortescue  at  their  head  ; so  that  the  old  county  holds  her 
head  as  proudly  in  the  Land  of  Ire  as  she  does  in  the  Low 
Countries  and  the  Spanish  Main.'’ 

“And  where,”  asked  Ainyas,  “is  Davils  of  Marsland,  who 
used  to  teach  me  how  to  catch  trout,  when  I was  staying  down 
at  Stow  ? He  is  in  Ireland,  too,  is  he  not  ?” 

“ Ah,  my  lad,”  said  Mr.  Cary,  “ that  is  a sad  story.  I 
thought  all  England  had  known  it.” 

“ You  forget,  sir,  I am  a stranger.  Surely  he  is  not 
dead?” 

“ Murdered  foully,  lad  ! Murdered  like  a dog,  and  by  the 
man  whom  he  had  treated  as  his  son,  and  who  pretended,  the 
false  knave  ! to  call  him  father.” 

“ His  blood  is  avenged  ?”  said  Ainyas  fiercely. 

“No,  by  heaven,  not  yet!  Stay,  don’t  cry  out  again.  I 
am  getting  old — I must  tell  my  story  my  own  way.  It  was 
last  July, — was  it  not,  Will? — Over  comes  to  Ireland  Saunders, 
one  of  those  Jesuit  foxes,  as  the  Pope’s  legate,  with  money  and 
bulls,  and  a banner  hallowed  by  the  Pope,  and  the  devil  knows 
what  beside  ; and  with  him  James  Fitzmaurice,  the  same  fellow 
who  had  sworn  oil  his  knees  to  Perrott,  in  the  church  at 
Kilmallock,  to  be  a true  liegeman  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  con- 
firmed it  by  all  his  saints,  and  such  a world  of  his  Irish  howl- 
ing, that  Perrott  told  me  he  was  fain  to  stop  his  own  ears. 
Well,  he  had  been  practising  with  the  King  of  France,  but  got 
nothing  but  laughter  for  his  pains,  and  so  went  over  to  the 
Most  Catholic  King,  and  promises  him  to  join  Ireland  to  Spain, 
and  set  up  Popery  again,  and  what  not.  And  he,  I suppose, 
thinking  it  better  that  Ireland  should  belong  to  him  than  to 
the  Pope’s  bastard,  fits  him  out,  and  sends  him  off  on  such 
another  errand  as  Stukely’s, — though  I will  say,  for  the  honour 
of  Devon,  if  Stukely  lived  like  a fool,  he  died  like  an  honest 
man.” 

“ Sir  Thomas  Stukely  dead  too  ?”  said  Amyas. 

“ Wait  a while,  lad,  and  you  shall  have  that  tragedy  after- 
wards. Well,  where  was  I ? Oh,  Fitzmaurice  and  the  Jesuits 


94  CLOVELLY  COURT  [chap.  V. 

land  at  Smerwick,  with  three  ships,  choose  a place  for  a fort, 
bless'  it  with  their  holy  water,  and  their  moppings  and  their 
scourings,  and  the  rest  of  it,  to  purify  it  from  the  stain  of 
heretic  dominion  ; but  in  the  meanwhile  one  of  the  Courtenays, 
—a  Courtenay  of  Haccombe,  was  it  ? — or  a Courtenay  of 
Boconnock  1 Silence,  Will,  I shall  have  it  in  a minute — yes,  a 
Courtenay  of  Haccombe  it  was,  lying  at  anchor  near  by,  in  a 
ship  of  war  of  his,  cuts  out  the  three  ships,  and  cuts  off  the 
Dons  from  the  sea.  John  and  James  Desmond,  with  some 
small  rabble,  go  over  to  the  Spaniards.  Earl  Desmond  will 
not  join  them,  but  will  not  fight  them,  and  stands  by  to  take 
the  winning  side ; and  then  in  comes  poor  Davils,  sent  down 
by  the  Lord  Deputy  to  charge  Desmond  and  his  brothers,  in 
the  queen’s  name,  to  assault  the  Spaniards.  Folks  say  it  was 
rash  of  his  Lordship  : but  I say,  what  could  be  better  done  ? 
Every  one  knows  that  there  never  was  a stouter  or  shrewder 
soldier  than  Davils ; and  the  young  Desmonds,  I have  heard 
him  say  many  a time,  used  to  look  on  him  as  their  father.  But 
he  found  out  what  it  was  to  trust  Englishmen  turned  Irish. 
Well,  the  Desmonds  found  out  on  a sudden  that  the  Dons  were 
such  desperate  Paladins,  that  it  was  madness  to  meddle,  though 
they  were  five  to  one ; and  poor  Davils,  seeing  that  there  was 
no  fight  in  them,  goes  back  for  help,  and  sleeps  that  night  at 
some  place  called  Tralee.  Arthur  Carter  of  Bideford,  St.  Leger’s 
lieutenant,  as  stout  an  old  soldier  as  Davils  himself,  sleeps  in 
the  same  bed  with  him  ; the  lacquey-boy,  who  is  now  with  Sir 
Richard  at  Stow,  on  the  floor  at  their  feet.  But  in  the  dead 
of  night,  who  should  come  in  but  James  Desmond,  sword  in 
hand,  with  a dozen  of  his  ruffians  at  his  heels,  each  with  his 
glib  over  his  ugly  face,  and  his  skene  in  his  hand.  Davils 
springs  up  in  bed,  and  asks  but  this,  ‘ What  is  the  matter,  my 
son  V whereon  the  treacherous  villain,  without  giving  him  time 
to  say  a prayer,  strikes  at  him,  naked  as  he  was,  crying,  4 Thou 
shalt  be  my  father  no  longer,  nor  I thy  son  ! Thou  shalt  die  V 
and  at  that  all  the  rest  fall  on  him.  The  poor  little  lad  (so  he 
says)  leaps  up  to  cover  his  master  with  his  naked  body,  gets 
three  or  four  stabs  of  skenes,  and  so  falls  for  dead ; with  his 
master  and  Captain  Carter,  who  were  dead  indeed — Cod  reward 
them  ! After  that  the  ruffians  ransacked  the  house,  till  they 
had  murdered  every  Englishmen  in  it,  the  lacquey-boy  only 
excepted,  who  crawled  out,  wounded  as  he  was,  through  a 
window  ; while  Desmond,  if  you  will  believe  it,  went  back,  up 
to  his  elbows  in  blood,  and  vaunted  his  deeds  to  the  Spaniards, 


IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


95 


CHAP.  V.] 

and  asked  them — ‘ There  ! Will  you  take  that  as  a pledge  that 
I am  faithful  to  you  V And  that,  my  lad,  was  the  end  of 
Henry  Davils,  and  will  be  of  all  who  trust  to  the  faith  of  wild 
savages.” 

“ I would  go  a hundred  miles  to  see  that  Desmond  hanged  !” 
said  Amyas,  while  great  tears  ran  down  his  face.  “ Poor  Mr. 
Davils  ! And  now,  what  is  the  story  of  Sir  Thomas  V’ 

“Your  brother  must  tell  you  that,  lad;  I am  somewhat 
out  of  breath.” 

“ And  I have  a right  to  tell  it,”  said  Frank,  with  a smile. 
“ Do  you  know  that  I was  very  near  being  Earl  of  the  bog  of 
Allen,  and  one  of  the  peers  of  the  realm  to  King  Buoncompagna, 
son  and  heir  to  his  Holiness  Pope  Gregory  the  Thirteenth  ?” 

“No,  surely  !” 

“ As  I am  a gentleman.  When  I was  at  Rome  I saw  poor 
Stukely  often ; and  this  and  more  he  offered  me  on  the  part 
(as  he  said)  of  the  Pope,  if  I would  just  oblige  him  in  the  two 
little  matters  of  being  reconciled  to  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
joining  the  invasion  of  Ireland.” 

“ Poor  deluded  heretic,”  said  Will  Cary,  “ to  have  lost  an 
earldom  for  your  family  by  such  silly  scruples  of  loyalty  !” 

“ It  is  not  a matter  for  jesting,  after  all,”  said  Frank  ; “ but 
I saw  Sir  Thomas  often,  and  I cannot  believe  he  was  in  his 
senses,  so  frantic  was  his  vanity  and  his  ambition ; and  all  the 
while,  in  private  matters  as  honourable  a gentleman  as  ever. 
However,  he  sailed  at  last  for  Ireland,  with  his  eight  hundred 
Spaniards  and  Italians  ; and  what  is  more,  I know  that  the 
King  of  Spain  paid  their  charges.  Marquis  Vinola— James 
Buoncompagna,  that  is — stayed  quietly  at  Rome,  preferring 
that  Stukely  should  conquer  his  paternal  heritage  of  Ireland 
for  him  while  he  took  car&  of  the  bona  robas  at  home.  I went 
down  to  Civita  Yecchia  to  see  him  off ; and  though  his  younger 
by  many  years,  I could  not  but  take  the  liberty  of  entreating 
him,  as  a gentleman  and  a man  of  Devon,  to  consider  his  faith 
to  his  queen  and  the  honour  of  his  country.  There  were  high 
words  between  us ; God  forgive  me  if  I spoke  too  fiercely,  for  I 
never  saw  him  again.” 

“ Too  fiercely  to  an  open  traitor,  Frank  1 Why  not  have 
run  him  through?” 

“ Nay,  I had  no  clean  life  for  Sundays,  Amyas ; so  I could 
not  throw  away  my  week-day  one ; and  as  for  the  weal  of 
England,  I knew  that  it  was  little  he  would  damage  it,  and 
told  him  so.  And  at  that  he  waxed  utterly  mad,  for  it  touched 


96 


CLOYELLY  COURT 


[chap.  v. 

his  pride,  and  swore  that  if  the  wind  had  not  been  fair  for 
sailing,  he  would  have  fought  me  there  and  then ; to  which  I 
could  only  answer,  that  I was  ready  to  meet  him  when  he 
would ; and  he  parted  from  me,  saying,  ^ It  is  a pity,  sir,  I 
cannot  fight  you  now  • when  next  we  meet,  it  will  be  beneath 
my  dignity  to  measure  swords  with  you.’” 

“ I suppose  he  expected  to  come  back  a prince  at  least — 
Heaven  knows  ; I owe  him  no  ill-will,  nor  I hope  does  any  man. 
He  has  paid  all  debts  now  in  full,  and  got  his  receipt  for  them.” 

“ How  did  he  die,  then,  after  all  V* 

“ On  his  voyage  he  touched  in  Portugal.  King  Sebastian 
was  just  sailing  for  Africa  with  his  new  ally,  Mohammed  the 
Prince  of  Fez,  to  help  King  Abdallah,  and  conquer  what  he 
could.  He  persuaded  Stukely  to  go  with  him.  There  were 
those  who  thought  that  he  as  well  as  the  Spaniards,  had  no 
stomach  for  seeing  the  Pope’s  son  King  of  Ireland.  Others 
used  to  say  that  he  thought  an  island  too  small  for  his  ambition, 
and  must  needs  conquer  a continent — I know  not  why  it  was, 
but  he  wrent.  They  had  heavy  weather  in  the  passage ; and 
when  they  landed,  many  of  their  soldiers  were  sea-sick.  Stukely, 
reasonably  enough,  counselled  that  they  should  wait  two  or 
three  days  and  recruit  ’ but  Don  Sebastian  w~as  so  mad  for  the 
assault  that  he  must  needs  have  his  veni,  vidi,  vici ; and  so 
ended  with  a veni , vidi , perii ; for  he,  Abdallah,  and  his  son 
Mohammed,  all  perished  in  the  first  battle  at  Alcasar  ; and 
Stukely,  surrounded  and  overpowered,  fought  till  he  could  fight 
no  more,  and  then  died  like  a hero  with  all  his  wounds  in 
front  ; and  may  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul !” 

“ Ah  !”  said  Amyas,  “ we  heard  of  that  battle  off  Lima,  but 
nothing  about  poor  Stukely.” 

“ That  last  was  a Popish  prayer,  Master  Frank,”  said  old 
Mr.  Cary. 

“ Most  worshipful  sir,  you  surely  would  not  wish  God  not 
to  have  mercy  on  his  soul1?” 

“No — eh 'l  Of  course  not : but  that’s  all  settled  by  now, 
for  he  is  dead,  poor  fellow.” 

“ Certainly,  my  dear  sir.  And  you  cannot  help  being  a 
little  fond  of  him  still.” 

“ Eh  ? why,  I should  be  a brute  if  I were  not.  He  and  I 
were  schoolfellows,  though  he  was  somewhat  the  younger ; and 
many  a good  thrashing  have  I given  him,  and  one  cannot  help 
having  a tenderness  for  a man  after  that.  Beside,  we  used  to 
hunt  together  in  Exmoor,  and  have  royal  nights  afterward  into 


IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


97 


CHAP.  V.] 

Ilfracombe,  when  we  were  a couple  of  mad  young  blades.  Fond 
of  him  ? Why,  I would  have  sooner  given  my  forefinger  than 
that  he  should  have  gone  to  the  dogs  thus.” 

“Then,  my  dear  sir, if  you  feel  for  him  still,  in  spite  of  all 
his  faults,  how  do  you  know  that  God  may  not  feel  for  him  still, 
in  spite  of  all  his  faults  ? For  my  part,”  quoth  Frank  in  his 
fanciful  way,  “ without  believing  in  that  Popish  Purgatory,  I 
cannot  help  holding  with  Plato,  that  such  heroical  souls,  who 
have  wanted  but  little  of  true  greatness,  are  hereafter  by  some 
strait  discipline  brought  to  a better  mind ; perhaps,  as  many 
ancients  have  held  with  the  Indian  Gynmosophists,  by  trans- 
migration into  the  bodies  of  those  animals  whom  they  have  re- 
sembled in  their  passions  ; and  indeed,  if  Sir  Thomas  Stukely’s 
soul  should  now  animate  the  body  of  a lion,  all  I can  say  is  that 
he  would  be  a very  valiant  and  royal  lion ; and  also  doubtless 
become  in  due  time  heartily  ashamed  and  penitent  for  having 
been  nothing  better  than  a lion.” 

“What  now,  Master  Frank1?  I don’t  trouble  my  head  with 
such  matters — I say  Stukely  was  a right  good-hearted  fellow  at 
bottom  ; and  if  you  plague  my  head  with  any  of  your  dialectics, 
and  propositions,  and  college  quips  and  quiddities,  you  shan’t 
have  any  more  sack,  sir.  But  here  come  the  knaves,  and  I hear 
the  cook  knock  to  dinner.” 

After  a madrigal  or  two,  and  an  Italian  song  of  Master 
Frank’s,  all  which  went  sweetly  enough,  the  ladies  rose,  and 
went.  Whereon  Will  Cary,  drawing  his  chair  close  to  Frank’s, 
put  quietly  into  his  hand  a dirty  letter. 

“ This  was  the  letter  left  for  me,”  whispered  he,  “ by  a 
country  fellow  this  morning.  Look  at  it  and  tell  me  what  I 
am  to  do.” 

Whereon  Frank  opened,  and  read — 

“ Mister  Cary,  be  you  wary 
By  deer  park  end  to-night. 

Yf  Irish  ffoxe  com  out  of  rocks 
Grip  and  hold  hym  tight.” 

“ I would  have  showed  it  my  father,”  said  Will,  “ but ” 

“ I verily  believe  it  to  be  a blind.  See  now,  this  is  the 
handwriting  of  a man  who  has  been  trying  to  write  vilely,  and 
yet  cannot.  Look  at  that  B,  and  that  G • their  formae  forma- 
tivce  never  were  begotten  in  a hedge-school.  And  what  is  more, 
this  is  no  Devon  man’s  handiwork.  We  say  ‘to’  and  not  ‘by,’ 
Will,  eh  1 in  the  West  country?” 

“Of  course.” 


H 


98 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[CHAP  Y. 


“ And  ‘ man,’  instead  of  ‘ him  ’ V ’ 

“ True,  0 Daniel ! But  am  I to  do  nothing  therefore  ?” 

“ On  that  matter  I am  no  judge.  Let  us  ask  much-endur- 
ing Ulysses  here ; perhaps  he  has  not  sailed  round  the  world 
without  bringing  home  a device  or  two.” 

Whereon  Amyas  was  called  to  counsel,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Cary 
could  be  stopped  in  a long  cross-examination  of  him  as  to  Mr. 
Doughty’s  famous  trial  and  execution. 

Amyas  pondered  awhile,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  long 
curls  ; and  then — 

“ Will,  my  lad,  have  you  been  watching  at  the  Deer  Park 
End  of  late?” 

“Never.” 

“ Where,  then  ?” 

“At  the  town-beach.” 

“Where  else?” 

“ At  the  town-head.” 

“Where  else?” 

“ Why,  the  fellow  is  turned  lawyer  ! Above  Freshwater.” 
“Where  is  Freshwater?” 

“ Why,  where  the  water-fall  comes  over  the  cliff,  half-a-mile 
from  the  town.  There  is  a path  there  up  into  the  forest.” 

“ I know.  I’ll  watch  there  to-night.  Do  you  keep  all  your 
old  haunts  safe,  of  course,  and  send  a couple  of  stout  knaves  to 
the  mill,  to  watch  the  beach  at  the  Deer  Park  End,  on  the 
chance ; for  your  poet  may  be  a true  man,  after  all.  But  my 
heart’s  faith  is,  that  this  comes  just  to  draw  you  off  from  some 
old  beat  of  yours,  upon  a wild  goose  chase.  If  they  shoot  the 
miller  by  mistake,  I suppose  it  don’t  much  matter?” 

“Marry,  no. 

“ ‘When  a miller’s  knock’d  on  the  head, 

The  less  of  flour  makes  the  more  of  bread.’  ” 

“ Or,  again,”  chimed  in  old  Mr.  Cary,  “ as  they  say  in  the 
North — 

“ ‘ Find  a miller  that  will  not  steal, 

Or  a webster  that  is  leal, 

Or  a priest  that  is  not  greedy, 

And  lay  them  three  a dead  corpse  by ; 

And  by  the  virtue  of  them  three, 

The  said  dead  corpse  shall  quicken’d  be.’  ” 

“ But  why  are  you  so  ready  to  watch  Freshwater  to-night, 
Master  Amyas  ?” 


CHAP.  V.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  99 

“Because,  sir,  those  who  come,  if  they  come,  will  never  land 
at  Mouthmill ; if  they  are  strangers,  they  dare  not ; and  if  they 
are  bay’s-men,  they  are  too  wise,  as  long  as  the  westerly  swell 
sets  in.  As  for  landing  at  the  town,  that  would  be  too  great  a 
risk ; but  Freshwater  is  as  lonely  as  the  Bermudas ; and  they 
can  beach  a boat  up  under  the  cliff  at  all  tides,  and  in  all 
weathers,  except  north  and  nor’-west.  I have  done  it  many  a 
time,  when  I was  a boy.” 

“ And  give  us  the  fruit  of  your  experience  now  in  your  old 
age,  eh1?  Well,  you  have  a grey  head  on  green  shoulders,  my 
lad ; and  I verily  believe  you  are  right.  Who  will  you  take 
with  you  to  watch?” 

“ Sir,”  said  Frank,  “ I will  go  with  my  brother : and  that 
will  be  enough.” 

“ Enough  ? He  is  big  enough,  and  you  brave  enough,  for 
ten ; but  still,  the  more  the  merrier.” 

“ But  the  fewer,  the  better  fare.  If  I might  ask  a first  and 
last  favour,  worshipful  sir,”  said  Frank  very  earnestly,  “you 
would  grant  me  two  things  : that  you  would  let  none  go  to 
Freshwater  but  me  and  my  brother;  and  that  whatsoever  we 
shall  bring  you  back  shall  be  kept  as  secret  as  the  commonweal 
and  your  loyalty  shall  permit.  I trust  that  we  are  not  so  un- 
known to  you,  or  to  others,  that  you  can  doubt  for  a moment 
but  that  whatsoever  we  may  do  will  satisfy  at  once  your  honour 
and  our  own.” 

“ My  dear  young  gentleman,  there  is  no  need  of  so  many 
courtier’s  words.  I am  your  father’s  friend,  and  yours.  And 
God  forbid  that  a Cary — for  I guess  your  drift — should  ever 
wish  to  make  a head  or  a heart  ache ; that  is,  more  than ” 

“ Those  of  whom  it  is  written,  £ Though  thou  bray  a fool  in 
a mortar,  yet  will  not  his  folly  depart  from  him,’  ” interposed 
Frank,  in  so  sad  a tone  that  no  one  at  the  table  replied ; and 
few  more  words  were  exchanged,  till  the  two  brothers  were  safe 
outside  the  house  ; and  then — 

“Amyas,”  said  Frank,  “that  wras  a Devon  man’s  handi- 
work, nevertheless  ; it  was  Eustace’s  handwriting.” 

“ Impossible !” 

“ No,  lad.  I have  been  secretary  to  a prince,  and  learnt  to 
interpret  cipher,  and  to  watch  every  pen-stroke ; and,  young  as 
I am,  I think  that  I am  not  easily  deceived.  Would  God  I 
were  ! Come  on,  lad ; and  strike  no  man  hastily,  lest  thou  cut 
off  thine  own  flesh.” 

So  forth  the  two  went,  along  the  park  to  the  eastward,  and 


100 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[chap.  y. 

past  the  head  of  the  little  wood-embosomed  fishing-town,  a steep 
stair  of  houses  clinging  to  the  cliff  far  below  them,  the  bright 
slate  roofs  and  white  walls  glittering  in  the  moonlight ; and 
on  some  half-mile  farther,  along  the  steep  hill-side,  fenced  with 
oak  wood  down  to  the  water’s  edge,  by  a narrow  forest  path,  to 
a point  where  two  glens  meet  and  pour  their  streamlets  over  a 
cascade  some  hundred  feet  in  height  into  the  sea  below.  By 
the  side  of  this  waterfall  a narrow  path  climbs  upward  from  the 
beach ; and  here  it  was  that  the  two  brothers  expected  to  meet 
the  messenger. 

Frank  insisted  on  taking  his  station  below  Amyas.  He 
said  that  he  was  certain  that  Eustace  himself  would  make  his 
appearance,  and  that  he  was  more  fit  than  Amyas  to  bring  him 
to  reason  by  parley ; that  if  Amyas  would  keep  watch  some 
twenty  yards  above,  the  escape  of  the  messenger  would  be  im- 
possible. Moreover,  he  was  the  elder  brother,  and  the  post  of 
honour  was  his  right.  So  Amyas  obeyed  him,  after  making 
him  promise  that  if  more  than  one  man  came  up  the  path,  he 
would  let  them  pass  him  before  he  challenged,  so  that  both 
might  bring  them  to  bay  at  the  same  time. 

So  Amyas  took  his  station  under  a high  marl  bank,  and, 
bedded  in  luxuriant  crown-ferns,  kept  his  eye  steadily  on  Frank, 
Avho  sat  down  on  a little  knoll  of  rock  (where  is  now  a garden 
on  the  cliff-edge)  which  parts  the  path  and  the  dark  chasm 
down  which  the  stream  rushes  to  its  final  leap  over  the 
cliff. 

There  Amyas  sat  a full  half-hour,  and  glanced  at  whiles 
from  Frank  to  look  upon  the  scene  around.  Outside  the  south- 
west wind  blew  fresh  and  strong,  and  the  moonlight  danced 
upon  a thousand  crests  of  foam ; but  within  the  black  jagged 
point  which  sheltered  the  town,  the  sea  did  but  heave,  in  long 
oily  swells  of  rolling  silver,  onward  into  the  black  shadow  of  the 
hills,  within  which  the  town  and  pier  lay  invisible,  save  where 
a twinkling  light  gave  token  of  some  lonely  fisher’s  wife,  watch- 
ing the  weary  night  through  for  the  boat  which  would  return 
with  dawn.  Here  and  there  upon  the  sea,  a black  speck  marked 
a herring-boat,  drifting  with  its  line  of  nets ; and  right  off  the 
mouth  of  the  glen,  Amyas  saw,  with  a beating  heart,  a large 
two-masted  vessel  lying-to — that  must  be  the  “Portugal!” 
Eagerly  he  looked  up  the  glen,  and  listened ; but  he  heard 
nothing  but  the  sweeping  of  the  wind  across  the  downs  five 
hundred  feet  above,  and  the  sough  of  the  waterfall  upon  the 
rocks  below ; he  saw  nothing  but  the  vast  black  sheets  of  oak- 


CHAP.  V.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  101 

wood  sloping  up  to  the  narrow  blue  sky  above,  and  the  broad 
bright  hhnter’s  moon,  and  the  woodcocks,  which,  chuckling  to 
each  other,  hawked  to  and  fro,  like  swallows,  between  the  tree- 
tops  and  the  sky. 

At  last  he  heard  a rustle  of  the  fallen  leaves ; he  shrank 
closer  and  closer  into  the  darkness  of  the  bank.  Then  swift 
light  steps — not  down  the  path,  from  above,  but  upward,  from 
below ; his  heart  beat  quick  and  loud.  And  in  another  half- 
minute  a man  came  in  sight,  within  three  yards  of  Frank’s 
hiding-place. 

Frank  sprang  out  instantly.  Amyas  saw  his  bright  blade 
glance  in  the  clear  October  moonlight. 

“ Stand  in  the  queen’s  name  !” 

The  man  drew  a pistol  from  under  his  cloak,  and  fired  full 
in  his  face.  Had  it  happened  in  these  days  of  detonators, 
Frank’s  chance  had  been  small ; but  to  get  a ponderous  wheel- 
lock  under  weigh  was  a longer  business,  and  before  the  fizzing 
of  the  flint  had  ceased,  Frank  had  struck  up  the  pistol  with  his 
rapier,  and  it  exploded  harmlessly  over  his  head.  The  man  in- 
stantly dashed  the  weapon  in  his  face  and  closed. 

The  blow,  luckily,  did  not  take  effect  on  that  delicate  fore- 
head, but  struck  him  on  the  shoulder  : nevertheless,  Frank, 
who  with  all  his  grace  and  agility  was  as  fragile  as  a lily,  and 
a very  bubble  of  the  earth,  staggered,  and  lost  his  guard-,  and 
before  he  could  recover  himself,  Amyas  saw  a dagger  gleam, 
and  one,  two,  three  blows  fiercely  repeated. 

Mad  with  fury,  he  was  with  them  in  an  instant.  They 
were  scuffling  together  so  closely  in  the  shade  that  he  was 
afraid  to  use  his  sword  point ; but  with  the  hilt  he  dealt  a 
single  blow  full  on  the  ruffian’s  cheek.  It  was  enough  ; with 
a hideous  shriek,  the  fellow  rolled  over  at  his  feet,  and  Amyas 
set  his  foot  on  him,  in  act  to  run  him  through. 

“Stop!  stay!”  almost  screamed  Frank;  “it  is  Eustace! 
our  cousin  Eustace  !”  and  he  leant  against  a tree. 

Amyas  sprang  towards  him  : but  Frank  waved  him  off. 

“ It  is  nothing — a scratch.  He  has  papers  : I am  sure  of 
it.  Take  them ; and  for  God’s  sake  let  him  go  !” 

“Villain  ! give  me  your  papers  !”  cried  Amyas,  setting  his 
foot  once  more  on  the  writhing  Eustace,  whose  jaw  was  broken 
across. 

“You  struck  me  foully  from  behind,”  moaned  he,  his  vanity 
and  envy  even  then  coming  out,  in  that  faint  and  foolish  attempt 
to  prove  Amyas  not  so  very  much  better  a man. 


102 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[chap.  y. 

“ Hound,  do  you  think  that  I dare  not  strike  you  in  front  1 
Give  me  your  papers,  letters,  whatever  Popish  devilry  you 
carry  ; or  as  I live,  I will  cut  off  your  head,  and  take  them 
myself,  even  if  it  cost  me  the  shame  of  stripping  your  corpse. 
Give  them  up  ! Traitor,  murderer  ! give  them,  I say!”  And 
setting  his  foot  on  him  afresh,  he  raised  his  sword. 

Eustace  was  usually  no  craven : but  he  was  cowed.  Between 
agony  and  shame,  he  had  no  heart  to  resist.  Martyrdom,  which 
looked  so  splendid  when  consummated  selon  les  regies  on  Tower 
Hill  or  Tyburn,  before  pitying,  or  (still  better)  scoffing  multi- 
tudes, looked  a confused,  dirty,  ugly  business  there  in  the  dark 
forest ; and  as  he  lay,  a stream  of  moonlight  bathed  his  mighty 
cousin’s  broad  clear  forehead,  and  his  long  golden  locks,  and 
his  white  terrible  blade,  till  he  seemed,  to  Eustace’s  supersti- 
tious eye,  like  one  of  those  fair  young  St.  Michaels  trampling-' 
on  the  fiend,  which  he  had  seen  abroad  in  old  German  pictures. 
He  shuddered  ; pulled  a packet  from  his  bosom,  and  threw  it 
from  him,  murmuring,  “ I have  not  given  it.” 

“ Swear  to  me  that  these  are  all  the  papers  which  you 
have  in  cipher  or  out  of  cipher.  Swear  on  your  soul,  or  you 
die  !” 

Eustace  swore. 

“ Tell  me,  who  are  your  accomplices  V* 

“Never!”  said  Eustace.  “Cruel!  have  you  not  degraded 
me  enough  already  ?”  and  the  wretched  young  man  burst  into 
tears,  and  hid  his  bleeding  face  in  his  hands. 

One  hint  of  honour  made  Amyas  as  gentle  as  a lamb.  He 
lifted  Eustace  up,  and  bade  him  run  for  his  life. 

“ I am  to  owe  my  life,  then,  to  you  V’ 

“ Not  in  the  least;  only  to  your  being  a Leigh.  Go,  or  it 
will  be  worse  for  you!”  And  Eustace  went;  while  Amyas, 
catching  up  the  precious  packet,  hurried  to  Frank.  He  had 
fainted  already,  and  his  brother  had  to  carry  him  as  far  as  the 
park  before  lie  could  find  any  of  the  other  watchers.  The 
blind,  as  far  as  they  were  concerned,  was  complete.  They  had 
heard  and  seen  nothing.  Whosoever  had  brought  the  packet 
had  landed  they  knew  not  where  ; and  so  all  returned  to  the 
Court,  carrying  Frank,  who  recovered  gradually,  having  rather 
bruises  than  wounds ; for  his  foe  had  struck  wildly,  and  with 
a trembling  hand. 

Half- an -hour  after,  Amyas,  Mr.  Cary,  and  his  son  Will 
were  in  deep  consultation  over  the  following  epistle,  the  only 
paper  in  the  packet  which  was  not  in  cipher : — 


IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


103 


CHAP.  V.] 


“ 4-  Dear  Brother  N.  S.  in  Cht0'  et  Ecclesia. 

“ This  is  to  inform  you  and  the  friends  of  the  cause,  that 
S.  Josephus  has  landed  in  Smerwick,  with  eight  hundred 
valiant  Crusaders,  burning  with  holy  zeal  to  imitate  last  year’s 
martyrs  of  Carrigfolium,  and  to  expiate  their  offences  (which  I 
fear  may  have  been  many)  by  the  propagation  of  our  most  holy 
faith.  I have  purified  the  fort  (which  they  are  strenuously 
rebuilding)  with  prayer  and  holy  water,  from  the  stain  of 
heretical  footsteps,  and  consecrated  it  afresh  to  the  service  of 
Heaven,  as  the  first-fruits  of  the  isle  of  saints  ; and  having  dis- 
played the  consecrated  banner  to  the  adoration  of  the  faithful, 
have  returned  to  Earl  Desmond,  that  I may  establish  his  faith, 
weak  as  yet,  by  reason  of  the  allurements  of  this  world : 
though  since,  by  the  valour  of  his  brother  James,  he  that 
hindered  was  taken  out  of  the  way  (I  mean  Davils  the  heretic, 
sacrifice  well-pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  Heaven  !),  the  young  man 
has  lent  a more  obedient  ear  to  my  counsels.  If  you  can  do 
anything,  do  it  quickly,  for  a great  door  and  effectual  is  opened, 
and  there  are  many  adversaries.  But  be  swift,  for  so  do  the 
poor  lambs  of  the  Church  tremble  at  the  fury  of  the  heretics, 
that  a hundred  will  flee  before  one  Englishman.  And  indeed, 
were  it  not  for  that  divine  charity  toward  the  Church  (which 
covers  the  multitude  of  sins)  with  which  they  are  resplendent, 
neither  they  nor  their  country  would  be,  by  the  carnal  judg- 
ment, counted  worthy  of  so  great  labour  in  their  behalf.  For 
they  themselves  are  given  much  to  lying,  theft,  and  drunkenness, 
vain  babbling,  and  profane  dancing  and  singing ; and  are  still, 
as  S.  Gildas  reports  of  them,  ‘ more  careful  to  shroud  their 
villanous  faces  in  bushy  hair,  than  decently  to  cover  their 
bodies ; while  their  land  (by  reason  of  the  tyranny  of  their 
chieftains,  and  the  continual  wars  and  plunderings  among  their 
tribes,  which  leave  them  weak  and  divided,  an  easy  prey  to  the 
myrmidons  of  the  excommunicate  and  usurping  Englishwoman) 
lies  utterly  waste  with  fire,  and  defaced  with  corpses  of  the 
starved  and  slain.  But  what  are  these  things,  while  the  holy 
virtue  of  Catholic  obedience  still  flourishes  in  their  hearts  ? 
The  Church  cares  not  for  the  conservation  of  body  and  goods, 
but  of  immortal  souls. 

“ If  any  devout  lady  shall  so  will,  you  may  obtain  from  her 
liberality  a shirt  for  this  worthless  tabernacle,  and  also  a pair 
of  hose  ; for  I am  unsavoury  to  myself  and  to  others,  and  of 
such  luxuries  none  here  has  superfluity ; for  all  live  in  holy 
poverty,  except  the  fleas,  who  have  that  consolation  in  this 


104  CLOVELLY  COURT  [CHAP.  V. 

world  for  which  this  unhappy  nation,  and  those  who  labour 
among  them,  must  wait  till  the  world  to  come.1 

“ Your  loving  brother, 

“ N.  S” 

“ Sir  Richard  must  know  of  this  before  daybreak,”  cried 
old  Cary.  “ Eight  hundred  men  landed  ! We  must  call  out 
the  Posse  Comitatus,  and  sail  with  them  bodily.  I will  go 
myself,  old  as  I am.  Spaniards  in  Ireland  1 not  a dog  of  them 
must  go  home  again.” 

“Not  a dog  of  them,”  answered  Will;  “but  where  is  Mr. 
Winter  and  his  squadron  1” 

“ Safe  in  Milford  Haven  ; a messenger  must  be  sent  to  him 
too.” 

“ I’ll  go,”  said  Amyas  : “ but  Mr.  Cary  is  right.  Sir 
Richard  must  know  all  first.” 

“And  we  must  have  those  Jesuits.” 

“ What  ? Mr.  Evans  and  Mr.  Morgans  ? God  help  us — 
they  are  at  my  uncle’s  ! Consider  the  honour  of  our  family !” 

“ Judge  for  yourself,  my  dear  boy,”  said  old  Mr.  Cary 
gently : “ would  it  not  be  rank  treason  to  let  these  foxes 
escape,  while  we  have  this  damning  proof  against  them  ?” 

“ I will  go  myself,  then.” 

“ Why  not  1 You  may  keep  all  straight,  and  Will  shall  go 
with  you.  Call  a groom,  Will,  and  get  your  horse  saddled,  and 
my  Yorkshire  grey;  he  will  make  better  play  with  this  big 
fellow  on  his  back,  than  the  little  pony  astride  of  which  Mr. 
Leigh  came  walking  in  (as  I hear)  this  morning.  As  for  Frank, 
the  ladies  will  see  to  him  well  enough,  and  glad  enough,  too,  to 
have  so  fine  a bird  in  their  cage  for  a week  or  two.” 

“And  my  mother V ’ 

• “We’ll  send  to  her  to-morrow  by  daybreak.  Come,  a 
stirrup  cup  to  start  with,  hot  and  hot.  Now,  boots,  cloaks, 
swords,  a deep  pull  and  a warm  one,  and  away  !” 

And  the  jolly  old  man  bustled  them  out  of  the  house  and 
into  their  saddles,  under  the  broad  bright  winter’s  moon. 

“You  must  make  your  pace,  lads,  or  the  moon  will  be  down 
before  you  are  over  the  moors.”  And  so  away  they  went. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  many  a mile.  Amyas,  because 
his  mind  was  fixed  firmly  on  the  one  object  of  saving  the  honour 
of  his  house;  and  Will,  because  he  was  hesitating  between 

1 See  note  at  end  of  chapter. 


CHAP.  V.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  105 

Ireland  and  the  wars,  and  Rose  Salterne  and  love-making.  At 
last  he  spoke  suddenly. 

“ I’ll  go,  Amyas.” 

“ Whither  T 

“To  Ireland  with  you,  old  man.  I have  dragged  my 
anchor  at  last.” 

“ What  anchor,  my  lad  of  parables  1” 

“ See,  here  am  I,  a tall  and  gallant  ship.” 

“ Modest  even  if  not  true.” 

“ Inclination,  like  an  anchor,  holds  me  tight.” 

“ To  the  mud.” 

“ Nay,  to  a bed  of  roses — not  without  their  thorns.” 

“ Hillo  ! I have  seen  oysters  grow  on  fruit-trees  before  now, 
but  never  an  anchor  in  a rose-garden.” 

“ Silence,  or  my  allegory  will  go  to  noggin-staves.” 

“Against  the  rocks  of  my  flinty  discernment.” 

“ Pooh— well.  Up  comes  duty  like  a jolly  breeze,  blowing 
dead  from  the  north-east,  and  as  bitter  and  cross  as  a north- 
easter too,  and  tugs  me  away  toward  Ireland.  I hold  on  by 
the  rose -bed — any  ground  in  a storm — till  every  strand  is 
parted,  and  off  I go,  westward  ho  ! to  get  my  throat  cut  in  a 
bog-hole  with  Amyas  Leigh.” 

“ Earnest,  Will?” 

“As  I am  a sinful  man.” 

“Well  done,  young  hawk  of  the  White  Cliff!” 

“ I had  rather  have  called  it  Gallantry  Bower  still,  though,” 
said  Will,  punning  on  the  double  name  of  the  noble  precipice 
which  forms  the  highest  point  of  the  deer  park. 

“ Well,  as  long  as  you  are  on  land,  you  know  it  is  Gallantry 
Bower  still : but  we  always  call  it  White  Cliff  when  you  see  it 
from  the  sea-board,  as  you  and  I shall  do,  I hope,  to-morrow 
evening.” 

“ What,  so  soon  V’ 

“ Dare  we  lose  a day  ?” 

“ I suppose  not : heigh-ho  !” 

And  they  rode  on  again  in  silence,  Amyas  in  the  meanwhile 
being  not  a little  content  (in  spite  of  his  late  self-renunciation) 
to  find  that  one  of  his  rivals  at  least  was  going  to  raise  the 
siege  of  the  Rose  garden  for  a few  months,  and  withdraw  his 
forces  to  the  coast  of  Kerry. 

As  they  went  over  Bursdon,  Amyas  pulled  up  suddenly. 

“ Did  you  not  hear  a horse’s  step  on  our  left?” 

“ On  our  left — coming  up  from  Welsford  moor  ? Impossible 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


106 


[chap.  V. 


at  this  time  of  night.  It  must  have  been  a stag,  or  a sownder 
of  wild  swine  : or  may  be  only  an  old  cow.” 

“ It  was  the  ring  of  iron,  friend.  Let  us  stand  and  watch.” 

Bursdon  and  Welsford  were  then,  as  now,  a rolling  range 
of  dreary  moors,  unbroken  by  tor  or  tree,  or  anything  save  few 
and  far  between  a world-old  furze -bank  which  marked  the 
common  rights  of  some  distant  cattle  farm,  and  crossed  then, 
not  as  now,  by  a decent  road,  but  by  a rough  confused  track- 
way, the  remnant  of  an  old  Roman  road  from  Clovelly  dikes 
to  Launceston.  To  the  left  it  trended  down  towards  a lower 
range  of  moors,  which  form  the  watershed  of  the  heads  of 
Torrid ge ; and  thither  the  two  young  men  peered  down  over 
the  expanse  of  bog  and  furze,  which  glittered  for  miles  beneath 
the  moon,  one  sheet  of  frosted  silver,  in  the  heavy  autumn  dew. 

“ If  any  of  Eustace’s  party  are  trying  to  get  home  from 
Freshwater,  they  might  save  a couple  of  miles  by  coming  across 
Welsford,  instead  of  going  by  the  main  track,  as  we  have  done.” 
So  said  Amyas,  who  though  (luckily  for  him)  no  “ genius,”  was 
cunning  as  a fox  in  all  matters  of  tactic  and  practic,  and  would 
have  in  these  days  proved  his  right  to  be  considered  an  intel- 
lectual person  by  being  a thorough  man  of  business.  / 

“ If  any  of  his  party  are  mad,  they’ll  try  it,  and  be  stogged 
till  the  day  of  judgment.  There  are  bogs  in  the  bottom  twenty 
feet  deep.  Plague  on  the  fellow,  whoever  he  is,  he  has  dodged 
us  ! Look  there  !” 

It  was  too  true.  The  unknown  horseman  had  evidently 
dismounted  below,  and  led  his  horse  up  on  the  other  side  of  a 
long  furze-dike ; till  coming  to  the  point  where  it  turned  away 
again  from  his  intended  course,  he  appeared  against  the  sky,  in 
the  act  of  leading  his  nag  over  a gap. 

“ Ride  like  the  wind  !”  and  both  youths  galloped  across 
furze  and  heather  at  him ; but  ere  they  were  within  a hundred 
yards  of  him,  he  had  leapt  again  on  his  horse,  and  was  away 
far  ahead. 

“ There  is  the  dor  to  us,  with  a vengeance,”  cried  Cary, 
putting  in  the  spurs. 

“It  is  but  a lad ; we  shall  never  catch  him.” 

“ I’ll  try,  though ; and  do  you  lumber  after  as  you  can, 
old  heavy  sides  and  Cary  pushed  forward. 

Amyas  lost  sight  of  him  for  ten  minutes,  and  then  came  up 
with  him  dismounted,  and  feeling  disconsolately  at  his  horse’s 
knees. 

“ Look  for  my  head.  It  lies  somewhere  about  among  the 


\ 


Clovelly. 


f 


CHAP.  V.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  107 

fnrze  there ; and  oh  ! I am  as  full  of  needles  as  ever  was  a pin- 
cushion.” 

“ Are  his  knees  broken  ?” 

“ I daren’t  look.  No,  I believe  not.  Come  along,  and 
make  the  best  of  a bad  matter.  The  fellow  is  a mile  ahead, 
and  to  the  right,  too.” 

“ He  is  going  for  Moorwinstow,  then  • but  where  is  my 
cousin  ?” 

“ Behind  us,  I dare  say.  We  snail  nab  him  at  least.” 

“ Cary,  promise  me  that  if  we  do,  you  will  keep  out  of  sight, 
and  let  me  manage  him.” 

“ My  boy,  I only  want  Evan  Morgans  and  Morgan  Evans. 
He  is  but  the  cat’s  paw,  and  we  are  after  the  cats  themselves.” 

And  so  they  went  on  another  dreary  six  miles,  till  the  land 
trended  downwards,  showing  dark  glens  and  masses  of  wood- 
land far  below. 

“Now,  then,  straight  to  Chapel,  and  stop  the  foxes’  earth? 
Or  through  the  King’s  Park  to  Stow,  and  get  out  Sir  Richard’s 
hounds,  hue  and  cry,  and  queen’s  warrant  in  proper  form  ?” 

“ Let  us  see  Sir  Richard  first ; and  whatsoever  he  decides 
about  my  uncle,  I will  endure  as  a loyal  subject  must.” 

So  they  rode  through  the  King’s  Park,  while  Sir  Richard’s 
colts  came  whinnying  and  staring  round  the  intruders,  and 
down  through  a rich  woodland  lane  five  hundred  feet  into  the 
valley,  till  they  could  hear  the  brawling  of  the  little  trout- 
stream,  and  beyond,  the  everlasting  thunder  of  the  ocean  surf. 

Down  through  warm  woods,  all  fragrant  with  dying 
autumn  flowers,  leaving  far  above  the  keen  Atlantic  breeze, 
into  one  of  those  delicious  Western  Combes,  and  so  past  the 
mill,  and  the  little  knot  of  flower-clad  cottages.  In  the  window 
of  one  of  them  a light  was  still  burning.  The  two  young  men 
knew  well  whose  window  that  was ; and  both  hearts  beat  fast ; 
for  Rose  Salterne  slept,  or  rather  seemed  to  wake,  in  that 
chamber. 

“ Folks  are  late  in  Combe  to-night,”  said  Amyas,  as  care- 
lessly as  he  could. 

Cary  looked  earnestly  at  the  window,  and  then  sharply 
enough  at  Amyas ; but  Amyas  was  busy  settling  his  stirrup ; 
and  Cary  rode  on,  unconscious  that  every  fibre  in  his  com- 
panion’s huge  frame  was  trembling  like  his  own. 

“ Muggy  and  close  down  here,”  said  Amyas,  who,  in  reality, 
was  quite  faint  with  his  own  inward  struggles. 

“We  shall  be  at  Stow  gate  in  five  minutes,”  said  Cary 


108 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[CHAP.  V. 

looking  back  and  down  longingly  as  his  horse  climbed  the 
opposite  hill ; but  a turn  of  the  zigzag  road  hid  the  cottage, 
and  the  next  thought  was,  how  to  effect  an  entrance  into  Stow 
at  three  in  the  morning  without  being  eaten  by  the  ban-dogs, 
who  were  already  howling  and  growling  at  the  sound  of  the 
horse-hoofs. 

However,  they  got  safely  in,  after  much  knocking  and  call- 
ing, through  the  postern-gate  in  the  high  west  wall,  into  a 
mansion,  the  description  whereof  I must  defer  to  the  next 
chapter,  seeing  that  the  moon  has  already  sunk  into  the  Atlantic, 
and  there  is  darkness  over  land  and  sea. 

Sir  Richard,  in  his  long  gown,  was  soon  downstairs  in  the 
hall ; the  letter  read,  and  the  story  told ; but  ere  it  was  half 
finished — 

“ Anthony,  call  up  a groom,  and  let  him  bring  me  a horse 
round.  Gentlemen,  if  you  will  excuse  me  five  minutes,  I shall 
be  at  your  service.” 

“ You  will  not  go  alone,  Richard  ?”  asked  Lady  Grenvile, 
putting  her  beautiful  face  in  its  nightcoif  out  of  an  adjoining 
door. 

“ Surely,  sweet  chuck,  we  three  are  enough  to  take  two  poor 
polecats  of  Jesuits.  Go  in,  and  help  me  to  boot  and  gird.” 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  down  and  up  across  the  valley 
again,  under  the  few  low  ashes  dipt  flat  by  the  sea-breeze  which 
stood  round  the  lonely  gate  of  Chapel. 

“ Mr.  Cary,  there  is  a back  path  across  the  downs  to  Mars- 
land  ; go  and  guard  that.”  Cary  rode  off ; and  Sir  Richard, 
as  he  knocked  loudly  at  the  gate — 

“Mr.  Leigh,  you  see  that  I have  consulted  your  honour, 
and  that  of  your  poor  uncle,  by  adventuring  thus  alone.  What 
will  you  have  me  do  now,  which  may  not  be  unfit  for  me  and 
you?” 

“ Oh,  sir  !”  said  Amyas,  with  tears  in  his  honest  eyes, 
“you  have  shown  yourself  once  more  what  you  always  have 
been — my  dear  and  beloved  master  on  earth,  not  second  even 
to  my  admiral  Sir  Francis  Drake. 

“ Or  the  queen,  I hope,”  said  Grenvile,  smiling,  “ but 
pocas  palabr  as.  What  will  you  do?” 

“ My  wretched  cousin,  sir,  may  not  have  returned — and  if 
I might  watch  for  him  on  the  main  road — unless  you  want  me 
with  you.” 

“ Richard  Grenvile  can  walk  alone,  lad.  But  what  will  you 
do  with  your  cousin?” 


CHAP.  V.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  109 

“ Send  him  out  of  the  country,  never  to  return  ; or  if  he 
refuses,  run  him  through  on  the  spot.” 

“ Go,  lad.”  And  as  he  spoke,  a sleepy  voice  asked  inside 
the  gate,  “Who  was  there'?” 

“Sir  Richard  Grenvile.  Open,  in  the  queen’s  name'?” 

“ Sir  Richard  'l  He  is  in  bed,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  No 
honest  folk  come  at  this  hour  of  night.” 

“ Amyas  !”  shouted  Sir  Richard.  Amyas  rode  back. 

“ Burst  that  gate  for  me,  while  I hold  your  horse.” 

Amyas  leaped  down,  took  up  a rock  from  the  roadside,  such 
as  Homer’s  heroes  used  to  send  at  each  other’s  heads,  and  in  an 
instant  the  door  was  flat  on  the  ground,  and  the  serving-man  on 
his  back  inside,  while  Sir  Richard  quietly  entering  over  it,  like 
Una  into  the  hut,  told  the  fellow  to  get  up  and  hold  his  horse 
for  him  (which  the  clod,  who  knew  well  enough  that  terrible 
voice,  did  without  further  murmurs),  and  then  strode  straight  to 
the  front  door.  It  was  already  opened.  The  household  had 
been  up  and  about  all  along,  or  the  noise  at  the  entry  had 
aroused  them. 

Sir  Richard  knocked,  however,  at  the  open  door ; and,  to  his 
astonishment,  his  knock  was  answered  by  Mr.  Leigh  himself, 
fully  dressed,  and  candle  in  hand. 

“ Sir  Richard  Grenvile  ! What,  sir  ! is  this  neighbourly, 
not  to  say  gentle,  to  break  into  my  house  in  the  dead  of  night '?” 
“ I broke  your  outer  door,  sir,  because  I was  refused  entrance 
when  I asked  in  the  queen’s  name.  I knocked  at  your  inner 
one,  as  I should  have  knocked  at  the  poorest  cottager’s  in  the 
parish,  because  I found  it  open.  You  have  two  Jesuits  here, 
sir  ! and  here  is  the  queen’s  warrant  for  apprehending  them.  I 
have  signed  it  with  my  owm  hand,  and,  moreover,  serve  it  now, 
with  my  own  hand,  in  order  to  save  you  scandal — and  it  may 
be,  worse.  I must  have  these  men,  Mr.  Leigh.” 

“ My  dear  Sir  Richard  ! ” 

“ I must  have  them,  or  I must  search  the  house ; and  you 
would  not  put  either  yourself  or  me  to  so  shameful  a necessity  *?” 
“ My  dear  Sir  Richard  ! ” 

“ Must  I,  then,  ask  you  to  stand  back  from  your  own  door- 
way, my  dear  sir1?”  said  Grenvile.  And  then  changing  his  voice 
to  that  fearful  lion’s  roar,  for  which  he  was  famous,  and  which 
it  seemed  impossible  that  lips  so  delicate  could  utter,  he  thun- 
dered, “Knaves,  behind  there  ! Back.!” 

This  was  spoken  to  half-a-dozen  grooms  and  serving-men, 
who,  well  armed,  were  clustered  in  the  passage. 


no 


CLOVELLY  COURT 


[chap.  v. 


“What*?  swords  out,  you  sons  of  cliff  rabbits  V7  And  in  a 
moment,  Sir  Richard’s  long  blade  flashed  out  also,  and  putting 
Mr.  Leigh  gently  aside,  as  if  he  had  been  a child,  he  walked  up 
to  the  party,  who  vanished  right  and  left ; having  expected  a cur 
dog,  in  the  shape  of  a parish  constable,  and  come  upon  a lion 
instead.  They  were  stout  fellows  enough,  no  doubt,  in  a fair 
fight : but  they  had  no  stomach  to  be  hanged  in  a row  at  Laun- 
ceston Castle,  after  a preliminary  running  through  the  body  by 
that  redoubted  admiral  and  most  unpeaceful  justice  of  the  peace. 

“ And  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Leigh,”  said  Sir  Richard,  as  blandly 
as  ever,  “ where  are  my  men  ? The  night  is  cold  ; and  you,  as 
well  as  I,  need  to  be  in  our  beds.” 

“ The  men,  Sir  Richard — the  Jesuits — they  are  not  here, 
indeed.” 

“Not  here,  sir V ’ 

“ On  the  word  of  a gentleman,  they  left  my  house  an  hour 
ago.  Believe  me,  sir,  they  did.  I will  swear  to  you  if  you  need.” 

“I  believe  Mr.  Leigh  of  Chapel’s  word  without  oaths. 
Whither  are  they  gone?” 

“ Nay,  sir — how  can  I tell  ? They  are — they  are,  as  I may 
say,  fled,  sir  ; escaped.” 

“ With  your  connivance  ; at  least  with  your  son’s.  Where 
are  they  gone?” 

“ As  I live,  I do  not  know.” 

“ Mr.  Leigh — is  this  possible  ? Can  you  add  untruth  to  that 
treason  from  the  punishment  of  which  I am  trying  to  shield  you?” 

Poor  Mr.  Leigh  burst  into  tears. 

“ Oh  ! my  God  ! my  God  1 is  it  come  to  this  ? Over  and 
above  having  the  fear  and  anxiety  of  keeping  these  black  rascals 
in  my  house,  and  having  to  stop  their  villanous  mouths  every 
minute,  for  fear  they  should  hang  me  and  themselves,  I am  to 
be  called  a traitor  and  a liar  in  my  old  age,  and  that,  too,  by 
Richard  Grenvile ! Would  God  I had  never  been  born  ! Would 
God  I had  no  soul  to  be  saved,  and  I’d  just  go  and  drown  care 
in  drink,  and  let  the  queen  and  the  pope  fight  it  out  their  own 
way  !”  And  the  poor  old  man  sank  into  a chair,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  then  leaped  up  again. 

“ Bless  my  heart ! Excuse  me,  Sir  Richard — to  sit  down 
and  leave  you  standing.  ’Slife,  sir,  sorrow  is  making  a hawbuck 
of  me.  Sit  down,  my  dear  sir ! my  worshipful  sir ! or  rather 
come  with  me  into  my  room,  and  hear  a poor  wretched  man’s 
story,  for  I swear  before  God  the  men  are  fled ; and  my  poor 
boy  Eustace  is  not  home  either,  and  the  groom  tells  me  that  his 


CHAP,  v.]  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  Ill 

devil  of  a cousin  has  broken  his  jaw  for  him  ; and  his  mother  is 
all  but  mad  this  hour  past.  Good  lack  ! good  lack  !” 

u He  nearly  murdered  his  angel  of  a cousin,  sir  !”  said  Sir 
Richard  severely. 

“What,  sir *2  They  never  told  me.” 

“ He  had  stabbed  his  cousin  Frank  three  times,  sir,  before 
Amyas,  who  is  as  noble  a lad  as  walks  God’s  earth,  struck  him 
down.  And  in  defence  of  what,  forsooth,  did  he  play  the  ruffian 
and  the  swashbuckler,  but  to  bring  home  to  your  house  this 
letter,  sir,  which  you  shall  hear  at  your  leisure,  the  moment  I 
have  taken  order  about  your  priests.”  And  walking  out  of  the 
house  he  went  round  and  called  to  Cary  to  come  to  him. 

“The  birds  are  flown,  Will,”  whispered  he.  “There  is  but 
one  chance  for  us,  and  that  is  Marsland  Mouth.  If  they  are 
trying  to  take  boat  there,  you  may  be  yet  in  time.  If  they  are 
gone  inland  we  can  do  nothing  till  we  raise  the  hue  and  cry  to- 
morrow.” 

And  Will  galloped  off*  over  the  downs  toward  Marsland, 
while  Sir  Richard  ceremoniously  walked  in  again,  and  professed 
himself  ready  and  happy  to  have  the  honour  of  an  audience  in 
Mr.  Leigh’s  private  chamber.  And  as  we  know  pretty  well 
already  what  was  to  be  discussed  therein,  we  had  better  go 
over  to  Marsland  Mouth,  and,  if  possible,  arrive  there  before 
Will  Cary  : seeing  that  he  arrived  hot  and  swearing,  half  an 
hour  too  late. 

Note. — I have  shrunk  somewhat  from  giving  these  and  other  sketches 
(true  and  accurate  as  I believe  them  to  be)  of  Ireland  during  Elizabeth’s 
reign,  when  the  tyranny  and  lawlessness  of  the  feudal  chiefs  had  reduced 
the  island  to  such  a state  of  weakness  and  barbarism,  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  England  either  to  crush  the  Norman-Irish  nobility, 
and  organise  some  sort  of  law  and  order,  or  to  leave  Ireland  an  easy  prey 
to  the  Spaniards,  or  any  other  nation  which  should  go  to  war  with  us. 
The  work  was  done — clumsily  rather  than  cruelly  ; but  wrongs  were  in- 
flicted, and  avenged  by  fresh  wrongs,  and  those  by  fresh  again.  May  the 
memory  of  them  perish  for  ever  ! It  has  been  reserved  for  this  age,  and 
for  the  liberal  policy  of  this  age,  to  see  the  last  ebullitions  of  Celtic  excit- 
ability die  out  harmless  and  ashamed  of  itself,  and  to  find  that  the  Irish- 
man, when  he  is  brought  as  a soldier  under  the  regenerative  influence  of 
law,  discipline,  self-respect,  and  loyalty,  can  prove  himself  a worthy  rival 
of  the  more  stern  Norse -Saxon  warrior.  God  grant  that  the  military 
brotherhood  between  Irish  and  English,  which  is  the  special  glory  of  the 
present  war,  may  be  the  germ  of  a brotherhood  industrial,  political,  and 
hereafter,  perhaps,  religious  also  ; and  that  not  merely  the  corpses  of 
heroes,  but  the  feuds  and  wrongs  which  have  parted  them  for  centuries, 
may  lie  buried,  once  and  for  ever,  in  the  noble  graves  of  Alma  and  Inkerman. 


112 


THE  COOMBES  OF 


[CHAP.  VI. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  COOMBES  OF  THE  FAR  WEST. 

‘ ‘ Far,  far  from  hence 
The  Adriatic  breaks  in  a warm  bay 
Among  the  green  Illyrian  hills,  and  there 
The  sunshine  in  the  happy  glens  is  fair, 

And  by  the  sea  and  in  the  brakes 
The  grass  is  cool,  the  sea- side  air 
Buoyant  and  fresh,  the  mountain  flowers 
More  virginal  and  sweet  than  ours.” 

Matthew  Arnold. 

And  even  such  are  those  delightful  glens,  which  cut  the  high 
table-land  of  the  confines  of  Devon  and  Cornwall,  and  opening 
each  through  its  gorge  of  down  and  rock,  towards  the  boundless 
Western  Ocean.  Each  is  like  the  other,  and  each  is  like  no 
other  English  scenery.  Each  has  its  upright  walls,  inland  of 
rich  oak-wood,  nearer  the  sea  of  dark  green  furze,  then  of  smooth 
turf,  then  of  weird  black  cliffs  which  range  out  right  and  left 
far  into  the  deep  sea,  in  castles,  spires,  and  wings  of  jagged 
iron-stone.  Each  has  its  narrow  strip  of  fertile  meadow,  its 
crystal  trout  stream  winding  across  and  across  from  one  hill-foot 
to  the  other ; its  grey  stone  mill,  with  the  water  sparkling  and 
humming  round  the  dripping  wheel ; its  dark  rock  pools  above 
the  tide  mark,  where  the  salmon -trout  gather  in  from  their 
Atlantic  wanderings,  after  each  autumn  flood : its  ridge  of  blown 
sand,  bright  with  golden  trefoil  and  crimson  lady’s  finger ; its 
grey  bank  of  polished  pebbles,  down  which  the  stream  rattles 
toward  the  sea  below.  Each  has  its  black  field  of  jagged  shark’s- 
tooth  rock  which  paves  the  cove  from  side  to  side,  streaked  with 
here  and  there  a pink  line  of  shell  sand,  and  laced  with  white 
foam  from  the  eternal  surge,  stretching  in  parallel  lines  out  to 
the  westward,  in  strata  set  upright  on  edge,  or  tilted  towards 
each  other  at  strange  angles  by  primeval  earthquakes  ; — such  is 
the  “Mouth” — as  those  coves  are  called ; and  such  the  jaw  of 
teeth  which  they  display,  one  rasp  of  which  would  grind  abroad 
the  timbers  of  the  stoutest  ship.  To  landward,  all  richness, 
softness,  and  peace;  to  seaward,  a waste  and  howling  wilderness 
of  rock  and  roller,  barren  to  the  fisherman,  and  hopeless  to  the 
shipwrecked  mariner. 

In  only  one  of  these  “ Mouths  ” is  a landing  for  boats,  made 
possible  by  a long  sea-wall  of  rock,  which  protects  it  from  the 


CHAP.  VI.]  THE  far  west.  113 

rollers  of  the  Atlantic  ; and  that  mouth  is  Marsland,  the  abode 
of  the  White  Witch,  Lucy  Passmore ; whither,  as  Sir  Richard 
Grenvile  rightly  judged,  the  Jesuits  were  gone.  But  before 
the  Jesuits  came,  two  other  persons  were  standing  on  that 
lonely  beach,  under  the  bright  October  moon,  namely,  Rose 
Salterne  and  the  White  Witch  herself;  for  Rose,  fevered  with 
curiosity  and  superstition,  and  allured  by  the  very  wildness  and 
possible  danger  of  the  spell,  had  kept  her  appointment ; and,  a 
few  minutes  before  midnight,  stood  on  the  grey  shingle  beach 
with  her  counsellor. 

“You  be  safe  enough  here  to-night,  Miss.  My  old  man  is 
snoring  sound  abed,  and  there’s  no  other  soul  ever  sets  foot  here 
o’  nights,  except  it  be  the  mermaids  now  and  then.  Goodness, 
Father,  where’s  our  boat?  It  ought  to  be  up  here  on  the 
pebbles.” 

Rose  pointed  to  a strip  of  sand  some  forty  yards  nearer  the 
sea,  where  the  boat  lay. 

“ Oh,  the  lazy  old  villain  ! he’s  been  round  the  rocks  after 
pollock  this  evening,  and  never  taken  the  trouble  to  hale 
the  boat  up.  I’ll  trounce  him  for  it  when  I get  home.  I 
only  hope  lie’s  made  her  fast  where  she  is,  that’s  all  ! He’s 
more  plague  to  me  than  ever  my  money  will  be.  0 deary 
me  !” 

And  the  goodwife  bustled  down  toward  the  boat,  with  Rose 
behind  her. 

“ Iss,  ’tis  fast,  sure  enough  : and  the  oars  aboard  too  ! 
Well,  I never ! Oh,  the  lazy  thief,  to  leave  they  here  to  be 
stole  ! I’ll  just  sit  in  the  boat,  dear,  and  watch  mun,  while 
you  go  down  to  the  say ; for  you  must  be  all  alone  to  yourself 
you  know,  or  you’ll  see  nothing.  There’s  the  looking-glass  ; 
now  go,  and  dip  your  head  three  times,  and  mind  you  don’t  look 
to  land  or  sea  before  you’ve  said  the  words,  and  looked  upon 
the  glass.  Now,  be  quick,  it’s  just  upon  midnight.” 

And  she  coiled  herself  up  in  the  boat,  while  Rose  went 
faltering  down  the  strip  of  sand,  some  twenty  yards  farther,  and 
there  slipping  off  her  clothes,  stood  shivering  and  trembling  for 
a moment  before  she  entered  the  sea. 

She  was  between  two  walls  of  rock : that  on  her  left  hand, 
some  twenty  feet  high,  hid  her  in  deepest  shade ; that  on  her 
right,  though  much  lower,  took  the  whole  blaze  of  the  midnight 
moon.  Great  festoons  of  live  and  purple  sea-weed  hung  from 
it,  shading  dark  cracks  and  crevices,  fit  haunts  for  all  the  goblins 
of  the  sea.  On  her  left  hand,  the  peaks  of  the  rock  frowned 

I 


THE  COOMBES  OF 


114 


[CHAP.  VI. 


down  ghastly  black ; on  her  right  hand,  far  aloft,  the  downs 
slept  bright  and  cold. 

The  breeze  had  died  away ; not  even  a roller  broke  the  per- 
fect stillness  of  the  cove.  The  gulls  were  all  asleep  upon  the 
ledges.  Over  all  was  a true  autumn  silence ; a silence  which 
may  be  heard.  She  stood  awed,  and  listened  in  hope  of  a 
sound  which  might  tell  her  that  any  living  thing  beside  herself 
existed. 

There  was  a faint  bleat,  as  of  a new-born  lamb,  high  above 
her  head ; she  started  and  looked  up.  Then  a wail  from  the 
cliffs,  as  of  a child  in  pain,  answered  by  another  from  the  oppo- 
site rocks.  They  wrere  but  the  passing  snipe,  and  the  otter 
calling  to  her  brood ; but  to  her  they  were  mysterious,  super- 
natural goblins,  come  to  answer  to  her  call.  Nevertheless,  they 
only  quickened  her  expectation  ; and  the  witch  had  told  her  not 
to  fear  them.  If  she  performed  the  rite  duly,  nothing  would 
harm  her : but  she  could  hear  the  beating  of  her  own  heart, 
as  she  stepped,  mirror  in  hand,  into  the  cold  water,  waded 
hastily,  as  far  as  she  dare,  and  then  stopped  aghast. 

A ring  of  flame  was  round  her  waist ; every  limb  was 
bathed  in  lambent  light ; all  the  multitudinous  life  of  the 
autumn  sea,  stirred  by  her  approach,  had  flashed  suddenly  into 
glory;— 

‘ ‘ And  around  her  the  lamps  of  the  sea  nymphs, 

Myriad  fiery  globes,  swam  heaving  and  panting,  and  rainbows, 

Crimson  and  azure  and  emerald,  were  broken  in  star-showers,  lighting 
Far  through  the'wine-dark  depths  of  the  crystal,  the  gardens  of  Nereus, 
Coral  and  sea-fan  and  tangle,  the  blooms  and  the  palms  of  the  ocean.” 

She  could  see  every  shell  which  crawled  on  the  white  sand  at 
her  feet,  every  rock-fish  which  played  in  and  out  of  the  crannies, 
and  stared  at  her  with  its  broad  bright  eyes  ; while  the  great 
palmate  oarweeds  which  waved  along  the  chasm,  half-seen  in 
the  glimmering  water,  seemed  to  beckon  her  down  with  long 
brown  hands  to  a grave  amid  their  chilly  bowers.  She  turned 
to  flee  : but  she  had  gone  too  far  now  to  retreat ; hastily  dipping 
her  head  three  times,  she  hurried  out  to  the  sea-marge,  and 
looking  through  her  dripping  locks  at  the  magic  mirror,  pro- 
nounced the  incantation— 

“ A maiden  pure,  here  I stand, 

Neither  on  sea,  nor  yet  on  land  ; 

Angels  watch  me  on  either  hand. 

If  you  be  landsman,  come  down  the  strand  ; 

If  you  be  sailor,  come  up  the  sand  ; 

If  you  be  angel,  come  from  the  sky, 


CHAP.  VI.] 


THE  FAR  WEST. 


115 


Look  in  my  glass,  and  pass  me  by  ; 

Look  in  my  glass,  and  go  from  the  shore ; 

Leave  me,  but  love  me  for  evermore.” 

The  incantation  was  hardly  finished  ; her  eyes  were  straining 
into  the  mirror,  where,  as  may  be  supposed,  nothing  appeared 
but  the  sparkle  of  the  drops  from  her  own  tresses,  when  she  heard 
rattling  down  the  pebbles  the  hasty  feet  of  men  and  horses. 

She  darted  into  a cavern  of  the  high  rock,  and  hastily 
dressed  herself : the  steps  held  on  right  to  the  boat.  Peeping 
out,  half-dead  with  terror,  she  saw  there  four  men,  two  of  whom 
had  just  leaped  from  their  horses,  and  turning  them  adrift, 
began  to  help  the  other  two  in  running  the  boat  down. 

Whereon,  out  of  the  stern  sheets,  arose,  like  an  angry  ghost, 
the  portly  figure  of  Lucy  Passmore,  and  shrieked  in  shrillest 
treble — 

“Eh  ! ye  villains,  ye  roogs,  what  do  ye  want  staling  poor 
folks’  boats  by  night  like  this?” 

The  whole  party  recoiled  in  terror,  and  one  turned  to  run 
up  the  beach,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  “ ’Tis  a mar- 
maiden — a marmaiden  asleep  in  Willy  Passmore’s  boat !” 

“ I wish  it  were  any  sich  good  luck,”  she  could  hear  Will 
say ; “ ’tis  my  wife,  oh  dear  ! ” and  he  cowered  down,  expecting 
the  hearty  cuff  which  he  received  duly,  as  the  White  Witch, 
leaping  out  of  the  boat,  dared  any  man  to  touch  it,  and  thun- 
dered to  her  husband  to  go  home  to  bed. 

The  wily  dame,  as  Rose  well  guessed,  was  keeping  up  this 
delay  chiefly  to  gain  time  for  her  pupil : but  she  had  also  more 
solid  reasons  for  making  the  fight  as  hard  as  possible ; for  she, 
as  well  as  Rose,  had  already  discerned  in  the  ungainly  figure  of 
one  of  the  party  the  same  suspicious  Welsh  gentlemen,  on  whose 
calling  she  had  divined  long  ago  ; and  she  was  so  loyal  a sub- 
ject as  to  hold  in  extreme  horror  her  husband’s  meddling  with 
such  “ Popish  skulkers”  (as  she  called  the  whole  party  roundly 
to  their  face) — unless  on  consideration  of  a very  handsome  sum 
of  money.  In  vain  Parsons  thundered,  Campian  entreated, 
Mr.  Leigh’s  groom  swore,  and  her  husband  danced  round  in 
an  agony  of  mingled  fear  and  covetousness. 

“No,”  she  cried,  “as  I am  an  honest  woman  and  loyal! 
This  is  why  you  left  the  boat  down  to  the  shoore,  you  old 
traitor,  you,  is  it  ? To  help  off  sich  noxious  trade  as  this  out 
of  the  hands  of  her  Majesty’s  quorum  and  rotulorum?  Eh? 
Stand  back,  cowards  ! Will  you  strike  a woman  ?” 

This  last  speech  (as  usual)  was  merely  indicative  of  her 


116 


THE  COOMBES  OF 


[CHAP.  vi. 


intention  to  strike  the  men ; for,  getting  out  one  of  the  oars, 
she  swung  it  round  and  round  fiercely,  and  at  last  caught 
Father  Parsons  such,  a crack  across  the  shins,  that  he  retreated 
with  a howl. 

“ Lucy,  Lucy  !”  shrieked  her  husband,  in  shrillest  Devon 
falsetto,  “ be  you  mazed  *?  Be  you  mazed,  lass  1 They  promised 
me  two  gold  nobles  before  I’d  lend  them  the  boot ! ” 

“ Tu  ?”  shrieked  the  matron,  with  a tone  of  ineffable  scorn. 
“And  do  yu  call  yourself  a man  ?” 

“ Tu  nobles  ! tu  nobles  !”  shrieked  he  again,  hopping  about 
at  oar’s  length. 

“ Tu  ? And  would  you  sell  your  soul  under  ten  ?” 

“Oh,  if  that  is  it,”  cried  poor  Campian,  “give  her  ten,  give 
her  ten,  brother  Pars  — Morgans,  I mean;  and  take  care  of 
your  shins,  1 Offa  Cerbero,’  you  know — Oh,  virago  ! ‘ Furens 

quid  foemina  possit !’  Certainly  she  is  some  Lamia,  some 
Gorgon,  some ” 

“ Take  that,  for  your  Lamys  and  Gorgons  to  an  honest 
woman  !”  and  in  a moment  poor  Campian’s  thin  legs  were  cut 
from  under  him,  while  the  virago,  “mounting  on  his  trunk 
astride,”  like  that  more  famous  one  on  Hudibras,  cried,  “ Ten 
nobles,  or  I’ll  kep  ye  here  till  morning  !”  And  the  ten  nobles 
were  paid  into  her  hand. 

And  now  the  boat,  its  dragon  guardian  being  pacified,  was 
run  down  to  the  sea,  and  close  past  the  nook  where  poor  little 
Rose  was  squeezing  herself  into  the  farthest  and  darkest  corner, 
among  wet  sea-weed  and  rough  barnacles,  holding  her  breath  as 
they  approached. 

They  passed  her,  and  the  boat’s  keel  was  already  in  the 
water ; Lucy  had  followed  them  close,  for  reasons  of  her  own, 
and  perceiving  close  to  the  water’s  edge  a dark  cavern,  cun- 
ningly surmised  that  it  contained  Rose,  and  planted  her  ample 
person  right  across  its  mouth,  while  she  grumbled  at  her 
husband  the  strangers,  and  above  all  at  Mr.  Leigh’s  groom,  to 
whom  she  prophesied  pretty  plainly  Launceston  gaol  and  the 
gallows  ; while  the  wretched  serving- man,  who  would  as  soon 
have  dared  to  leap  off  Welcombe  Cliff,  as  to  return  railing  for 
railing  to  the  White  Witch,  in  vain  entreated  her  mercy,  and 
tried,  by  all  possible  dodging,  to  keep  one  of  the  party  between 
himself  and  her,  lest  her  redoubted  eye  should  “overlook”  him 
once  more  to  his  ruin. 

But  the  night’s  adventures  were  not  ended  yet ; for  just  as 
the  boat  was  launched,  a faint  haloo  was  heard  upon  the  beach, 


THE  FAR  WEST. 


117 


CHAP.  VI.] 

and  a minute  after,  a horseman  plunged  down  the  pebbles,  and 
along  the  sand,  and  pulling  his  horse  up  on  its  haunches  close 
to  the  terrified  group,  dropped,  rather  than  leaped,  from  the 
saddle. 

The  serving-man,  though  he  dared  not  tackle  a witch,  knew 
well  enough  how  to  deal  with  a swordsman  ; and  drawing, 
sprang  upon  the  new-comer  : and  then  recoiled — 

“ God  forgive  me,  it’s  Mr.  Eustace  ! Oh,  dear  sir,  I took 
you  for  one  of  Sir  Richard’s  men  ! Oh,  sir,  you’re  hurt !” 

“A  scratch,  a scratch!”  almost  moaned  Eustace.  “Help 
me  into  the  boat,  Jack.  Gentlemen,  I must  with  you.” 

“Not  with  us,  surely,  my  dear  son,  vagabonds  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth  said  kind-hearted  Campian. 

“ With  you,  for  ever.  All  is  over  here.  Whither  God  and 
the  cause  lead  ” — and  he  staggered  toward  the  boat. 

As  he  passed  Rose,  she  saw  his  ghastly  bleeding  face,  half 
bound  up  with  a handkerchief,  which  could  not  conceal  the  con- 
vulsions of  rage,  shame,  and  despair,  which  twisted  it  from  all 
its  usual  beauty.  His  eyes  glared  wildly  round — and  once, 
right  into  the  cavern.  They  met  hers,  so  full,  and  keen,  and 
dreadful,  that  forgetting  she  was  utterly  invisible,  the  terrified 
girl  was  on  the  point  of  shrieking  aloud. 

“He  has  overlooked  me  !”  said  she,  shuddering  to  herself, 
as  she  recollected  his  threat  of  yesterday. 

“Who  has  wounded  you?”  asked  Campian. 

“ My  cousin — Amyas — and  taken  the  letter  !” 

“The  Devil  take  him,  then!”  cried  Parsons,  stamping  up 
and  down  upon  the  sand  in  fury. 

“ Ay,  curse  him — you  may  ! I dare  not  ! He  saved  me — 
sent  me  here  !” — and  with  a groan,  he  made  an  effort  to  enter 
the  boat. 

“ Oh,  my  dear  young  gentleman,”  cried  Lucy  Passmore,  her 
woman’s  heart  bursting  out  at  the  sight  of  pain,  “you  must 
not  goo  forth  with  a grane  wound  like  to  that.  Do  ye  let  me 
just  bind  mun  up — do  ye  now  !”  and  she  advanced. 

Eustace  thrust  her  back.  - 

“ No  ! better  bear  it.  I deserve  it — devils  ! I deserve  it ! 
On  board,  or  we  shall  all  be  lost  ^-William  Cary  is  close 
behind  me  !” 

And  at  that  news  the  boat  was  thrust  into  the  sea,  faster 
than  ever  it  went  before,  and  only  in  time ; for  it  was  but  just 
round  the  rocks,  and  out  of  sight,  when  the  rattle  of  Cary’s 
horsehoofs  was  heard  above. 


118 


THE  COOMBES  OF  THE  FAR  WEST.  [chap.  vi. 

“ That  rascal  of  Mr.  Leigh’s  will  catch  it  now,  the  Popish 
villain!'’  said  Lucy  Passmore  aloud.  “You  lie  still  there, 
dear  life,  and  settle  your  sperrits ; you’m  so  safe  as  ever  was 
rabbit  to  burrow.  I’ll  see  what  happens,  if  I die  for  it ! ” And 
so  saying,  she  squeezed  herself  up  through  a cleft  to  a higher 
ledge,  from  whence  she  could  see  what  passed  in  the  valley. 

“ There  mun  is!  in  the  meadow,  trying  to  catch  the  horses! 
There  comes  Mr.  Cary  ! Goodness,  Father,  how  a rid’th  ! lie’s 
over  wall  already ! Ron,  Jack ! ron  then  ! A’ll  get  to  the 
river!  No,  a waint ! Goodness,  Father ! There’s  Mr.  Cary 
cotched  mun  ! A’s  down,  a’s  down  ! ” 

“ Is  he  dead  ?”  asked  Rose,  shuddering. 

“ Iss,  fegs,  dead  as  nits  ! and  Mr.  Cary  off  his  horse,  stand- 
ing overthwart  mun  ! No,  a baint  ! A’s  up  now.  Suspose 
he  was  hit  wi’  the  flat.  Whatever  is  Mr.  Cary  tu  ? Telling 
wi’  mun,  a bit.  0 dear,  dear,  dear  !” 

“ Has  he  killed  him  ?”  cried  poor  Rose. 

“ No,  fegs,  no  ! kecking  mun,  kecking  mun,  so  hard  as 
ever  was  futeball ! Goodness,  Father,  who  did  ever?  If  a 
haven’t  kecked  mun  right  into  river,  and  got  on  mini’s  horse 
and  rod  away  !” 

And  so  saying,  down  she  came  again. 

“ And  now  then,  my  dear  life,  us  be  better  to  goo  hoom 
and  get  you  sommat  warm.  You’m  mortal  cold,  I rackon,  by 
now.  I was  cruel  fear’d  for  ye  : but  I kept  mun  off  clever, 
didn’t  I,  now  ?” 

“ I wish — I wish  I had  not  seen  Mr.  Leigh’s  face  !” 

“ Iss,  dreadful,  weren’t  it,  poor  young  soul  ; a sad  night  for 
his  poor  mother  !” 

“ Lucy,  I can’t  get  his  face  out  of  my  mind.  I’m  sure  he 
overlooked  me.” 

“ 0 then  ! who  ever  heard  the  like  o’  that  ? When  young 
gentlemen  do  overlook  young  ladies,  tain’t  thikketheor  aways, 
I knoo.  Never  you  think  on  it.” 

“ But  I can’t  help  thinking  of  it,”  said  Rose.  “ Stop. 
Shall  we  go  home  yet  ? Where’s  that  servant  ?” 

“ Never  mind,  he  waint  see  us,  here  under  the  hill.  I’d 
much  sooner  to  know  where  my  old  man  was.  I’ve  a sort  of 
a forecasting  in  my  inwards,  like,  as  I always  has  when  aught’s 
gwain  to  happen,  as  though  I shuldn’t  zee  mun  again,  like,  I 
have,  Miss.  Well — he  was  a bedient  old  soul,  after  all,  he  was. 
Goodness,  Father!  and  all  this  while  us  have  forgot  the  very 
thing  us  come  about ! Who  did  you  see  ?” 


CHAP,  vii.]  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  119 

“ Only  that  face  !”  said  Rose,  shuddering. 

“ Not  in  the  glass,  maid  ? Say  then,  not  in  the  glass  Vf 

“Would  to  heaven  it  had  been!  Lucy,  what  if  he  were 
the  man  I was  fated  to ” 

“He?  Why,  he’s  a praste,  a Popish  praste,  that  can’t  marry 
if  he  would,  poor  wratch.” 

“He  is  none  • and  I have  cause  enough  to  know  it !”  And, 
for  want  of  a better  confidant,  Rose  poured  into  the  willing  ears 
of  her  companion  the  whole  story  of  yesterday’s  meeting. 

“He’s  a pretty  wooer  !”  said  Lucy  at  last  contemptuously. 
“Be  a brave  maid,  then,  be  a brave  maid,  and  never  terrify 
yourself  with  his  unlucky  face.  It’s  because  there  was  none  here 
worthy  of  ye,  that  ye  seed  none  in  glass.  Maybe  he’s  to  be  a 
foreigner,  from  over  seas,  and  that’s  why  his  sperit  was  so  long 
a coming.  A duke,  or  a prince  to  the  least,  I’ll  warrant,  he’ll 
be,  that  carries  off  the  Rose  of  Bideford.” 

But  in  spite  of  all  the  good  dame’s  flattery,  Rose  conld  not 
wipe  that  fierce  face  away  from  her  eyeballs.  She  reached 
home  safely,  and  crept  to  bed  undiscovered  : and  when  the  next 
morning,  as  was  to  be  expected,  found  her  laid  up  with  some- 
thing very  like  a fever,  ; i n excitement,  terror,  and  cold,  the 
phantom  grew  stronger  and  stronger  before  her,  and  it  required 
all  her  woman’s  tact  and  self-restraint  to  avoid  betraying  by  her 
exclamations  what  had  happened  on  that  fantastic  night.  After 
a fortnight’s  weakness,  however,  she  recovered  and  went  back 
to  Bideford : but  ere  she  arrived  there,  Amyas  was  far  across 
the  seas  on  his  way  to  Milford  Haven,  as  shall  be  told  in  the 
ensuing  chapters. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM 
OF  PLYMOUTH. 

“ The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  flew  ; 

The  furrow  follow’d  free  ; 

We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea.” 

The  Ancient  Mariner. 

It  was  too  late  and  too  dark  last  night  to  see  the  old  house  at 
Stow.  We  will  look  round  us,  then,  this  bright  October  day, 
while  Sir  Richard  and  Amyas,  about  eleven  o’clock  in  the  fore- 
noon, are  pacing  up  and  down  the  terraced  garden  to  the  south. 


120 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[CHAP.  YII. 

Aniyas  has  slept  till  luncheon,  i.e.  till  an  hour  ago  : but  Sir 
Richard,  in  spite  of  the  bustle  of  last  night,  was  up  and  in  the 
valley  by  six  o’clock,  recreating  the  valiant  souls  of  himself  and 
two  terrier  dogs  by  the  chase  of  sundry  badgers. 

Old  Stow  House  stands,  or  rather  stood,  some  four  miles 
beyond  the  Cornish  border,  on  the  northern  slope  of  the  largest 
and  loveliest  of  those  coombes  of  which  I spoke  in  the  last 
chapter.  Eighty  years  after  Sir  Richard’s  time  there  arose 
there  a huge  Palladian  pile,  bedizened  with  every  monstrosity 
of  bad  taste,  which  was  built,  so  the  story  runs,  by  Charles  the 
Second,  for  Sir  Richard’s  great  grandson,  the  heir  of  that  famous 
Sir  Bevil  who  defeated  the  Parliamentary  troops  at  Stratton, 
and  died  soon  after,  fighting  valiantly  at  Lansdowne  over  Bath. 
But,  like  most  other  things  which  owed  their  existence  to  the 
Stuarts,  it  rose  only  to  fall  again.  An  old  man  who  had  seen, 
as  a boy,  the  foundation  of  the  new  house  laid,  lived  to  see  it 
pulled  down  again,  and  the  very  bricks  and  timber  sold  upon 
the  spot ; and  since  then  the  stables  have  become  a farm-house, 
the  tennis-court  a sheep-cote,  the  great  quadrangle  a rick-yard ; 
and  civilisation,  spreading  wave  on  wave  so  fast  ebe where,  has 
surged  back  from  that  lonely  corner  of  the  land — let  us  hope, 
only  for  a while. 

But  I am  not  writing  of  that  great  new  Stow  House,  of  the 
past  glories  whereof  quaint  pictures  still  hang  in  the  neighbour- 
ing houses  ; nor  of  that  famed  Sir  Bevil,  most  beautiful  and 
gallant  of  his  generation,  on  whom,  with  his  grandfather  Sir 
Richard,  old  Prince  has  his  pompous  epigram — 

‘ ‘ Where  next  shall  famous  Grenvil’s  ashes  stand  ? 

Thy  grandsire  fills  the  sea,  and  thou  the  land.” 

I have  to  deal  with  a simpler  age,  and  a sterner  generation; 
and  with  the  old  house,  which  had  stood  there,  in  part  at  least, 
from  grey  and  mythic  ages,  when  the  first  Sir  Richard,  son  of 
Hamon  Dentatus,  Lord  of  Carboyle,  the  grandson  of  Duke 
Robert,  son  of  Rou,  settled  at  Bideford,  alter  slaying  the  Prince 
of  South-Galis,  and  the  Lord  of  Glamorgan,  and  gave  to  the 
Cistercian  monks  of  Neath  all  his  conquests  in  South  Wales. 
It  was  a. huge  rambling  building,  half  castle,  half  dwelling-house, 
such  as  may  be  seen  still  (almost  an  unique  specimen)  in 
Compton  Castle  near  Torquay,  the  dwelling-place  of  Humphrey 
Gilbert,  Walter  Raleigh’s  half-brother,  and  Richard  Grenvile’s 
bosom  friend,  of  whom  more  hereafter.  On  three  sides,  to  the 
north,  west,  and  south,  the  lofty  walls  of  the  old  ballium  still 


. 


Compton  Castle. 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  121 

stood,  with  their  machicolated  turrets,  loopholes,  and  dark 
downward  crannies  for  dropping  stones  and  fire  on  the  besiegers, 
the  relics  of  a more  unsettled  age  : but  the  southern  court  of 
the  ballium  had  become  a flower-garden,  with  quaint  terraces, 
statues,  knots  of  flowers,  clipped  yews  and  hollies,  and  all  the 
pedantries  of  the  topiarian  art.  And  toward  the  east,  where 
the  vista  of  the  valley  opened,  the  old  walls  were  gone,  and  the 
frowning  Norman  keep,  ruined  in  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  had 
been  replaced  by  the  rich  and  stately  architecture  of  the  Tudors. 
Altogether,  the  house,  like  the  time,  was  in  a transitionary 
state,  and  represented  faithfully  enough  the  passage  of  the  old 
middle  age  into  the  new  life  which  had  just  burst  into  blossom 
throughout  Europe,  never,  let  us  pray,  to  see  its  autumn  or  its 
winter. 

From  the  house  on  three  sides,  the  hill  sloped  steeply  down, 
and  the  garden  where  Sir  Richard  and  Amyas  were  walking  gave 
a truly  English  prospect.  At  one  turn  they  could  catch,  over  the 
western  walls,  a glimpse  of  the  blue  ocean  flecked  with  passing 
sails ; and  at  the  next,  spread  far  below  them,  range  on  range 
of  fertile  park,  stately  avenue,  yellow  autumn  woodland,  and 
purple  heather  moors,  lapping  over  and  over  each  other  up  the 
valley  to  the  old  British  earthwork,  which  stood  black  and  furze- 
grown  on  its  conical  peak  ; and  standing  out  against  the  sky  on 
the  highest  bank  of  hill  which  closed  the  valley  to  the  east,  the 
lofty  tower  of  Kilkhampton  church,  rich  with  the  monuments 
and  offerings  of  five  centuries  of  G-renviles.  A yellow  eastern 
haze  hung  soft  over  park,  and  wood,  and  moor ; the  red  cattle 
lowed  to  each  other  as  they  stood  brushing  away  the  flies  in  the 
rivulet  far  below ; the  colts  in  the  horse-park  close  on  their  right 
whinnied  as  they  played  together,  and  their  sires  from  the 
Queen’s  Park,  on  the  opposite  hill,  answered  them  in  fuller 
though  fainter  voices.  A rutting  stag  made  the  still  woodland 
rattle  with  his  hoarse  thunder,  and  a rival  far  up  the  valley  gave 
back  a trumpet  note  of  defiance,  and  was  himself  defied  from 
heathery  brows  which  quivered  far  away  above,  half  seen  through 
the  veil  of  eastern  mist.  And  close  at  home,  upon  the  terrace 
before  the  house,  amid  romping  spaniels,  and  golden-haired 
children,  sat  Lady  Grenvile  herself,  the  beautiful  St.  Leger  of 
Annery,  the  central  jewel  of  all  that  glorious  place,  and  looked 
down  at  her  noble  children,  and  then  up  at  her  more  noble 
husband,  and  round  at  that  broad  paradise  of  the  West,  till  life 
seemed  too  full  of  happiness,  and  heaven  of  light. 

And  all  the  while  up  and  down  paced  Amyas  and  Sir  Richard, 


122 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


chap.  vir. 


talking  long,  earnestly,  and  slow  ; for  they  both  knew  that  the 
turning  point  of  the  boy’s  life  was  come. 

“Yes,”  said  Sir  Richard,  after  Amyas,  in  his  blunt  simple 
way,  had  told  him  the  whole  story  about  Rose  Salterne  and  his 
brother, — “ yes,  sweet  lad,  thou  hast  chosen  the  better  part,  thou 
and  thy  brother  also,  and  it  shall  not  be  taken  from  you.  Only 
be  strong,  lad,  and  trust  in  God  that  He  will  make  a man  of  you.” 
“ I do  trust,”  said  Amyas. 

“ Thank  God,”  said  Sir  Richard,  “ that  you  have  yourself 
taken  from  my  heart  that  which  was  my  great  anxiety  for  you, 
from  the  day  that  your  good  father,  who  sleeps  in  peace,  com- 
mitted you  to  my  hands.  For  all  best  things,  Amyas,  become, 
when  misused,  the  very  worst ; and  the  love  of  woman,  because 
it  is  able  to  lift  man’s  soul  to  the  heavens,  is  also  able  to  drag 
him  down  to  hell.  But  you  have  learnt  better,  Amyas  ; and 
know,  with  our  old  German  forefathers,  that,  as  Tacitus  saith, 
‘Sera  juvenum  Venus,  ideoque  inexhausta  pubertas.’  And  not 
only  that,  Amyas  ; but  trust  me,  that  silly  fashion  of  the  French 
and  Italians,  to  be  hanging  ever  at  some  woman’s  apron  string, 
so  that  no  boy  shall  count  himself  a man  unless  he  can  ‘ vag- 
ghezziare  le  donne,’  whether  maids  or  wives,  alas  ! matters  little ; 
that  fashion,  I say,  is  little  less  hurtful  to  the  soul  than  open 
sin  ; for  by  it  are  bred  vanity  and  expense,  envy  and  heartburn- 
ing, yea,  hatred  and  murder  often ; and  even  if  that  be  escaped, 
yet  the  rich  treasure  of  a manly  worship,  which  should  be  kept 
for  one  alone,  is  squandered  and  parted  upon  many,  and  the  bride 
at  last  comes  in  for  nothing  but  the  very  last  leavings  and  caput 
mortuum  of  her  bridegroom’s  heart,  a id  becomes  a mere  orna- 
ment for  his  table,  and  a means  whereby  he  may  obtain  a pro- 
geny. May  God,  who  has  saved  me  from  that  death  in  life,  save 
you  also  !”  And  as  he  spoke,  he  looked  down  toward  his  wife 
upon  the  terrace  below  ; and  she,  as  if  guessing  instinctively  that 
he  was  talking  of  her,  looked  up  with  so  sweet  a smile,  that  Sir 
Richard’s  stern  face  melted  into  a very  glory  of  spiritual  sunshine. 

Amyas  looked  at  them  both  and  sighed ; and  then  turning 
the  conversation  suddenly — 

“ And  I may  go  to  Ireland  to-morrow  ?” 

“You  shall  sail  in  the  ‘Mary’  for  Milford  Haven,  with  these 
letters  to  Winter.  If  the  wind  serves,  you  may  bid  the  master 
drop  down  the  river  to-night,  and  be  off ; for  we  must  lose  no 
time.” 

“Winter1?”  said  Amyas.  “He  is  no  friend  of  mine,  since 
he  left  Drake  and  us  so  cowardly  at  the  Straits  of  Magellan.” 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  123 

Duty  must  not  wait  for  private  quarrels,  even  though  they 
be  just  ones,  lad  : but  he  will  not  be  your  general.  When  you 
come  to  the  Marshal,  or  the  Lord  Deputy,  give  either  of  them 
this  letter,  and  they  will  set  you  work, — and  hard  work  too,  I 
warrant.” 

“ I want  nothing  better.” 

“ Right,  lad  ; the  best  reward  for  having  wrought  well 
already,  is  to  have  more  to  do ; and  he  that  has  been  faithful 
over  a few  things,  must  find  his  account  in  being  made  ruler 
over  many  things.  That  is  the  true  and  heroical  rest,  which 
only  is  worthy  of  gentlemen  and  sons  of  God.  As  for  those 
who,  either  in  this  world  or  the  world  to  come,  look  for  idleness, 
and  hope  that  God  shall  feed  them  with  pleasant  things,  as  it 
were  with  a spoon,  Amyas,  I count  them  cowards  and  base,  even 
though  they  call  themselves  saints  and  elect.” 

“I  wish  you  could  persuade  my  poor  cousin  of  that.” 

“ He  has  yet  to  learn  what  losing  his  life  to  save  it  means, 
Amyas.  Bad  men  have  taught  him  (and  I fear  these  Ana- 
baptists and  Puritans  at  home  teach  little  else),  that  it  is  the 
one  great  business  of  every  one  to  save  his  own  soul  after  he  dies ; 
every  one  for  himself;  and  that  that,  and  not  divine  self-sacrifice, 
is  the  one  thing  needful,  and  the  better  part  which  Mary  chose.” 
“ I think  men  are  inclined  enough  already  to  be  selfish, 
without  being  taught  that.” 

“ Right,  lad.  For  me,  if  I could  hang  up  such  a teacher 
on  high  as  an  enemy  of  mankind,  and  a corrupter  of  youth,  I 
would  do  it  gladly.  Is  there  not  cowardice  and  self-seeking 
enough  about  the  hearts  of  us  fallen  sons  of  Adam,  that  these 
false  prophets,  with  their  baits  of  heaven,  and  their  terrors  of 
hell,  must  exalt  our  dirtiest  vices  into  heavenly  virtues  and  the 
means  of  bliss  ? Farewell  to  chivalry  and  to  desperate  valour, 
farewell  to  patriotism  and  loyalty,  farewell  to  England  and  to 
the  manhood  of  England,  if  once  it  shall  become  the  fashion  of 
our  preachers  to  bid  every  man,  as  the  Jesuits  do,  take  care 
first  of  what  they  call  the  safety  of  his  soul.  Every  man  will 
be  afraid  to  die  at  his  post,  because  he  will  be  afraid  that  he 
is  not  fit  to  die.  Amyas,  do  thou  do  thy  duty  like  a man,  to 
thy  country,  thy  queen,  and  thy  God;  and  count  thy  life  a 
worthless  thing,  as  did  the  holy  men  of  old.  Do  thy  work,  lad  ; 
and  leave  thy  soul  to  the  care  of  Him  who  is  just  and  merciful 
in  this,  that  He  rewards  every  man  according  to  his  work.  Is 
there  respect  of  persons  with  God?  Now  come  in,  and  take 
the  letters,  and  to  horse.  And  if  I hear  of  thee  dead  there  at 


124 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[CHAP.  VII. 

Smerwick  fort,  with  all  thy  wounds  in  front,  I shall  weep  for 
thy  mother,  lad;  but  I shall  have  never,  a sigh  for  thee.” 

If  any  one  shall  be  startled  at  hearing  a fine  gentleman 
and  a warrior  like  Sir  Richard  quote  Scripture,  and  think 
Scripture  also,  they  must  be  referred  to  the  writings  of  the 
time ; which  they  may  read  not  without  profit  to  themselves, 
if  they  discover  therefrom  how  it  was  possible  then  for  men  of 
the  world  to  be  thoroughly  ingrained  with  the  Gospel,  and  yet 
to  be  free  from  any  taint  of  superstitious  fear,  or  false  devout- 
ness. The  religion  of  those  days  was  such  as  no  soldier  need 
have  been  ashamed  of  confessing.  At  least,  Sir  Richard  died 
as  he  lived,  without  a shudder,  and  without  a whine ; and 
these  were  his  last  words,  fifteen  years  after  that,  as  he  lay 
shot  through  and  through,  a captive  among  Popish  Spaniards, 
priests,  crucifixes,  confession,  extreme  unction,  and  all  other 
means  and  appliances  for  delivering  men  out  of  the  hands  of  a 
God  of  love  : — ■ 

“ Here  die  I,  Richard  Grenvile,  with  a joyful  and  quiet 
mind ; for  that  I have  ended  my  life  as  a true  soldier  ought, 
fighting  for  his  country,  queen,  religion,  and  honour : my  soul 
willingly  departing  from  this  body,  leaving  behind  the  lasting 
fame  of  having  behaved  as  every  valiant  soldier  is  in  his  duty 
bound  to  do.” 

Those  were  the  last  words  of  Richard  Grenvile.  The  pulpits 
of  those  days  had  taught  them  to  him. 

But  to  return.  That  day’s  events  were  not  over  yet.  For, 
when  they  went  down  into  the  house,  the  first  person  whom 
they  met  was  the  old  steward,  in  search  of  his  master. 

“ There  is  a manner  of  roog,  Sir  Richard,  a masterless  man, 
at  the  door ; a very  forward  fellow,  and  must  needs  speak  with 
you.” 

“ A masterless  man  ? He  had  better  not  to  speak  to  me, 
unless  he  is  in  love  with  gaol  and  gallows.” 

“Well,  your  worship,”  said  the  steward,  “I  expect  that  is 
what  he  does  want,  for  he  swears  he  will  not  leave  the  gate 
till  he  has  seen  you.” 

“ Seen  me  ? Halidame  ! he  shall  see  me,  here  and  at 
Launceston  too,  if  he  likes.  Bring  him  in.” 

“Fegs,  Sir  Richard,  we  are  half  afeard,  with  your  good 
leave ” 

“ Hillo,  Tony,”  cried  Amyas,  “ who  was  ever  afeard  yet  with 
Sir  Richard’s  good  leave1?” 

“What,  has  the  fellow  a tail  or  horns?” 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  125 

“ Massy  no  : but  I be  afeard  of  treason  for  your  honour ; 
for  the  fellow  is  pinked  all  over  in  heathen  patterns,  and  as 
brown  as  a filbert ; and  a tall  roog,  a very  strong  roog,  sir,  and  a 
foreigner  too,  and  a mighty  staff  with  him.  I expect  him  to 
be  a manner  of  Jesuit,  or  wild  Irish,  sir ; and  indeed  the  grooms 
have  no  stomach  to  handle  him,  nor  the  dogs  neither,  or  he 
had  been  under  the  pump  before  now,  for  they  that  saw  him 
coining  up  the  hill  swear  that  he  had  fire  coming  out  of  his 
mouth.” 

“Fire  out  of  his  mouth'?”  said  Sir  Richard.  “The  men 
are  drunk.” 

“ Pinked  all  over  1 He  must  be  a sailor,”  said  Amyas  ; “ let 

me  out  and  see  the  fellow,  and  if  he  needs  putting  forth ” 

“ Why,  I dare  say  he  is  not  so  big  but  what  he  will  go  into 
thy  pocket.  So  go,  lad,  while  I finish  my  writing.” 

Amyas  went  out,  and  at  the  back  door,  leaning  on  his  staff, 
stood  a tall,  raw-boned,  ragged  man,  “pinked  all  over,”  as  the 
steward  had  said. 

“Hillo,  lad!”  quoth  Amyas.  “Before  we  come  to  talk, 
thou  wilt  please  to  lay  down  that  Plymouth  cloak  of  thine.” 
And  he  pointed  to  the  cudgel,  which  among  West -country 
mariners  usually  bore  that  name. 

“ I’ll  warrant,”  said  the  old  steward,  “ that  where  he  found 
his  cloak  he  found  a purse  not  far  off'.” 

“ But  not  hose  or  doublet ; so  the  magical  virtue  of  his 
staff  has  not  helped  him  much.  But  put  down  thy  staff,  man, 
and  speak  like  a Christian,  if  thou  be  one.” 

“ I am  a Christian,  though  I look  like  a heathen ; and  no 
rogue,  though  a masterless  man,  alas  ! But  I want  nothing, 
deserving  nothing,  and  only  ask  to  speak  with  Sir  Richard, 
before  I go  on  my  way.” 

There  was  something  stately  and  yet  humble  about  the 
man’s  tone  and  manner  which  attracted  Amyas,  and  he  asked 
more  gently  where  he  was  going  and  whence  he  came. 

“ From  Padstow  Port,  sir,  to  Clovelly  town,  to  see  my  old 
mother,  if  indeed  she  be  yet  alive,  which  God  knoweth.” 

“ Clovally  man  ! why  didn’t  thee  say  thee  was  Clovally 
man  ?”  asked  all  the  grooms  at  once,  to.  whom  a West  country- 
man was  of  course  a brother.  The  old  steward  asked — 

“ What’s  thy  mother’s  name,  then  ?” 

“ Susan  Yeo.” 

“ What,  that  lived  under  the  archway '?”  asked  a groom. 

“ Lived  ?”  said  the  man. 


126  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [CHAP.  VII. 

“ Iss,  sure ; her  died  three  days  since,  so  we  heard,  poor 
soul.” 

The  man  stood  quite  silent  and  unmoved  for  a minute  or 
two ; and  then  said  quietly  to  himself,  in  Spanish,  “ That 
which  is,  is  best.” 

“You  speak  Spanish?”  asked  Amyas,  more  and  more  in- 
terested. 

“ I had  need  to  do  so,  young  sir ; I have  been  five  years  in 
the  Spanish  Main,  and  only  set  foot  on  shore  two  days  ago ; 
and  if  you  will  let  me  have  speech  of  Sir  Richard,  I will  tell 
him  that  at  which  both  the  ears  of  him  that  heareth  it  shall 
tingle ; and  if  not,  I can  but  go  on  to  Mr.  Cary  of  Clovelly,  if 
he  be  yet  alive,  and  there  disburthen  my  soul ; but  I would 
sooner  have  spoken  with  one  that  is  a mariner  like  to  myself.” 

“And  you  shall,”  said  Amyas.  “Steward,  we  will  have 
this  man  in ; for  all  his  rags,  he  is  a man  of  wit.”  And  he 
led  him  in. 

“ I only  hope  he  ben’t  one  of  those  Popish  murderers,”  said 
the  old  steward,  keeping  at  a safe  distance  from  him  as  they 
entered  the  hall. 

“ Popish,  old  master  ? There’s  little  fear  of  my  being  that. 
Look  here  ! ” And  drawing  back  his  rags,  he  showed  a ghastly 
scar,  which  encircled  his  wrist  and  wound  round  and  up  his 
fore-arm. 

“ I got  that  on  the  rack,”  said  he  quietly,  “ in  the  Inquisi- 
tion at  Lima.” 

“ 0 Father  ! Father  ! why  didn’t  you  tell  us  that  you  were 
a poor  Christian  ?”  asked  the  penitent  steward. 

“ Because  I have  had  nought  but  my  deserts ; and  but  a 
taste  of  them  either,  as  the  Lord  knoweth  who  delivered  me ; 
and  I wasn’t  going  to  make  myself  a beggar  and  a show  on  their 
account.” 

“ By  heaven,  you  are  a brave  fellow  !”  said  Amyas.  “ Come 
along  straight  to  Sir  Richard’s  room.” 

So  in  they  went,  where  Sir  Richard  sat  in  his  library  among 
books,  despatches,  state-papers,  and  warrants ; for  though  he 
was  not  yet,  as  in  after  times  (after  the  fashion  of  those  days) 
admiral,  general,  member  of  parliament,  privy  councillor, 
justice  of  the  peace,  and  so  forth,  all  at  once,  yet  there  were  few 
great  men  with  whom  he  did  not  correspond,  or  great  matters 
with  which  he  was  not  cognisant. 

“ Hillo,  Amyas,  have  you  bound  the  wild  man  already,  and 
brought  him  in  to  swear  allegiance  ?” 


CHAP,  yir.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  127 

But  before  Amy  as  could  answer,  the  man  looked  earnestly 
on  him — “ Amyas  ?”  said  he ; “ is  that  your  name,  sir  ?” 

“ Amyas  Leigh  is  my  name,  at  your  service,  good  fellow.” 
“Of  Burrough  by  Bideford ?” 

“ Why  then  ? What  do  you  know  of  me  ?” 

“ Oh  sir,  sir  ! young  brains  and  happy  ones  have  short 
memories ; but  old  and  sad  brains  too  too  long  ones  often  ! 
Do  you  mind  one  that  was  with  Mr.  Oxenham,  sir  ? A swearing 
reprobate  he  was,  God  forgive  him,  and  hath  forgiven  him  too, 
for  His  dear  Son’s  sake — one,  sir,  that  gave  you  a horn,  a toy 
with  a chart  on  it  V* 

“Soul  alive  !”  cried  Amyas,  catching  him  by  the  hand; 
“and  are  you  he?  The  horn?  why,  I have  it  still,  and  will 
keep  it  to  my  dying  day,  too.  But  where  is  Mr.  Oxenham  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  good  fellow,  where  is  Mr.  Oxenham  ?”  asked  Sir 
Richard,  rising.  “ You  are  somewhat  over-hasty  in  welcoming 
your  old  acquaintance,  Amyas,  before  we  have  heard  from  him 
whether  he  can  give  honest  account  of  himself  and  of  his  cap- 
tain. For  there  is  more  than  one  way  by  which  sailors  may 
come  home  without  their  captains,  as  poor  Mr.  Barker  of  Bristol 
found  to  his  cost.  God  grant  that  there  may  have  been  no  such 
traitorous  dealing  here.” 

“ Sir  Richard  Grenvile,  if  I had  been  a guilty  man  to  my 
noble  captain,  as  I have  to  God,  I had  not  come  here  this  day 
to  you,  from  whom  villany  has  never  found  favour,  nor  ever 
will ; for  I know  your  conditions  well,  sir ; and  trust  in  the 
Lord,  that  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  me,  you  shall  know 
mine.” 

“ Thou  art  a well-spoken  knave.  We  shall  see.” 

“ My  dear  sir,”  said  Amyas  in  a whisper,  “ I will  warrant 
this  man  guiltless.” 

“ I verily  believe  him  to  be  ; but  this  is  too  serious  a matter 

to  be  left  on  guess.  If  he  will  be  sworn ” 

Whereon  the  man,  humbly  enough,  said,  that  if  it  would 
please  Sir  Richard,  he  would  rather  not  be  sworn. 

“ But  it  does  not  please  me,  rascal ! Did  I not  warn  thee, 
Amyas  ?” 

“ Sir,”  said  the  man  proudly,  “ God  forbid  that  my  word 
should  not  be  as  good  as  my  oath  : but  it  is  against  my  con- 
science to  be  sworn.” 

“ What  have  we  here  ? some  fantastical  Anabaptist,  who  is 
wiser  than  his  teachers.” 

“ My  conscience,  sir ” 


128  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [CHAP.  VIL 

“ The  devil  take  it  and  thee  ! I never  heard  a man  yet  begin 
to  prate  of  his  conscience,  but  I knew  that  he  was  about  to  do 
something  more  than  ordinarily  cruel  or  false.” 

“ Sir,”  said  the  man,  coolly  enough,  “ do  you  sit  here  to 
judge  me  according  to  law,  and  yet  contrary  to  the  law  swear 
profane  oaths,  for  which  a fine  is  provided  V* 

Amyas  expected  an  explosion  : but  Sir  Richard  pulled  a 
shilling  out  and  put  it  on  the  table.  “ There — my  fine  is  paid, 
sirrah,  to  the  poor  of  Kilkhampton  : but  hearken  thou  all  the 
same.  If  thou  wilt  not  speak  an  oath,  thou  shalt  speak  on 
compulsion ; for  to  Launceston  gaol  thou  goest,  there  to  answer 
for  Mr.  Oxenham’s  death,  on  suspicion  whereof,  and  of  mutiny 
causing  it,  I will  attach  thee  and  every  soul  of  his  crew  that 
comes  home.  We  have  lost  too  many  gallant  captains  of  late 
by  treachery  of  their  crews,  and  he  that  will  not  clear  himself 
on  oath,  must  be  held  for  guilty,  and  self-condemned.” 

“ My  good  fellow,”  said  Amyas,  who  could  not  give  up  his 
belief  in  the  man’s  honesty ; “why,  for  such  fantastical  scruples, 
peril  not  only  your  life,  but  your  honour,  and  Mr.  Oxenham’s 
also  1 For  if  you  be  examined  by  question,  you  may  be  forced 
by  torment  to  say  that  which  is  not  true.” 

“Little  fear  of  that,  young  sir  !”  answered  he  with  a grim 
smile ; “I  have  had  too  much  of  the  rack  already,  and  the 
strappado  too,  to  care  much  what  man  can  do  unto  me.  I would 
heartily  that  I thought  it  lawful  to  be  sworn  : but  not  so  think- 
ing, I can  but  submit  to  the  cruelty  of  man ; though  I did 
expect  more  merciful  things,  as  a most  miserable  and  wrecked 
mariner,  at  the  hands  of  one  who  hath  himself  seen  God’s  ways 
in  the  sea,  and  His  wonders  in  the  great  deep.  Sir  Richard 
Grenvile,  if  you  will  hear  my  story,  may  God  avenge  on  my 
head  all  my  sins  from  my  youth  up  until  now,  and  cut  me  off 
from  the  blood  of  Christ,  and,  if  it  were  possible,  from  the 
number  of  His  elect,  if  I tell  you  one  whit  more  or  less  than 
truth  ; and  if  not,  I commend  myself  into  the  hands  of  God.” 
Sir  Richard  smiled.  “Well,  thou  art  a brave  ass,  and  valiant, 
though  an  ass  manifest.  Dost  thou  not  see,  fellow,  how  thou 
hast  sworn  a ten-times  bigger  oath  than  ever  I should  have  asked 
of  thee  1 But  this  is  the  way  with  your  Anabaptists,  who  by 
their  very  hatred  of  forms  and  ceremonies,  show  of  how  much 
account  they  think  them,  and  then  bind  themselves  out  of  their 
own  fantastical  self-will  with  far  heavier  burdens  than  ever  the 
lawful  authorities  have  laid  on  them  for  the  sake  of  the  common- 
weal. But  what  do  they  care  for  the  commonweal,  as  long  as 


CHAP.  vii. ] OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  129 

they  can  save,  as  they  fancy,  each  man  his  own  dirty  soul  for 
himself1?  However,  thou  art  sworn  now  with  a vengeance;  go 
on  with  thy  tale  : and  first,  who  art  thou,  and  whence  V* 

“ Well,  sir,”  said  the  man,  quite  unmoved  by  this  last  ex- 
plosion ; “ my  name  is  Salvation  Yeo,  born  in  (Jlovelly  Street, 
in  the  year  1526,  where  my  father  exercised  the  mystery  of  a 
barber  surgeon,  and  a preacher  of  the  people  since  called  Ana- 
baptists, for  which  I return  humble  thanks  to  God.” 

Sir  Richard. — Fie  ! thou  naughty  knave  ; return  thanks 
that  thy  father  was  an  ass  1 

Yeo. — Nay,  but  because  he  was  a barber  surgeon ; for  I 
myself  learnt  a touch  of  that  trade,  and  thereby  saved  my  life, 
as  I will  tell  presently.  And  I do  think  that  a good  mariner 
ought  to  have  all  knowledge  of  carnal  and  worldly  cunning, 
even  to  tailoring  and  shoemaking,  that  he  may  be  able  to  turn 
his  hand  to  whatsoever  may  hap. 

Sir  Richard. — Well  spoken,  fellow  : but  let  us  have  thy 
text  without  thy  comments.  Forwards  ! 

Yeo. — Well,  sir;  I was  bred  to  the  'sea  from  my  youth, 
and  was  with  Captain  Hawkins  in  his  three  voyages,  which  he 
made  to  Guinea  for  negro  slaves,  and  thence  to  the  West  Indies. 

Sir  Richard. — Then  thrice  thou  wentest  to  a bad  end, 
though  Captain  Hawkins  be  my  good  friend ; and  the  last  time 
to  a bad  end  thou  earnest. 

Yeo. — No  denying  that  last,  your  worship  : but  as  for  the 
former,  I doubt : — about  the  unlawfulness  I mean ; being  the 
negroes  are  of  the  children  of  Ham,  who  are  cursed  and  repro- 
bate, as  Scripture  declares,  and  their  blackness  testifies,  being 
Satan’s  own  livery ; among  whom  therefore  there  can  be  none 
of  the  elect,  wherefore  the  elect  are  not  required  to  treat  them 
as  brethren. 

Sir  Richard. — What  a plague  of  a pragmatical  sea-lawyer 
have  we  here  h And  I doubt  not,  thou  hypocrite,  that  though 
thou  wilt  call  the  negroes’  black  skin  Satan’s  livery,  when  it 
serves  thy  turn  to  steal  them,  thou  wilt  find  out  sables  to  be 
Heaven’s  livery  every  Sunday,  and  up  with  a godly  howl  unless 
a parson  shall  preach  in  a black  gown  Geneva  fashion.  Out 
upon  thee  ! Go  on  with  thy  tale,  lest  thou  finish  thy  sermon 
at  Launceston  after  all. 

Yeo. — The  Lord’s  people  were  always  a reviled  people  and 
a persecuted  people  : but  I will  go  forward,  sir ; for  Heaven  for- 
bid but  that  I should  declare  what  God  has  done  for  me.  For 
till  lately,  from  my  youth  up,  I was  given  over  to  all  wretchless- 

K 


130  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [chap.  VII. 

ness  and  unclean  living,  and  was  by  nature  a child  of  the  devil, 
and  to  every  good  work  reprobate,  even  as  others. 

Sir  Richard. — Hark  to  his  “ even  as  others  ” ! Thou  new- 
whelped  Pharisee,  canst  not  confess  thine  own  villanies  without 
making  out  others  as  bad  as  thyself,  and  so  thyself  no  worse 
than  others  1 I only  hope  that  thou  hast  shown  none  of  thy 
devil’s  doings  to  Mr.  Oxenham. 

Yeo. — On  the  word  of  a Christian  man,  sir,  as  I said  before, 
I kept  true  faith  with  him,  and  would  have  been  a better  friend 
to  him,  sir,  what  is  more,  than  ever  he  was  to  himself. 

Sir  Richard. — Alas  ! that  might  easily  be. 

Yeo. — I think,  sir,  and  will  make  good  against  any  man, 
that  Mr.  Oxenham  was  a noble  and  valiant  gentleman ; true  of 
his  word,  stout  of  his  sword,  skilful  by  sea  and  land,  and  worthy 
to  have  been  Lord  High  Admiral  of  England  (saving  your 
worship’s  presence),  but  that  through  two  great  sins,  wrath  and 
avarice,  he  was  cast  away  miserably  or  ever  his  soul  was  brought 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth.  Ah,  sir,  he  was  a captain  worth 
sailing  under  ! And  Yeo  heaved  a deep  sigh. 

Sir  Richard. — Steady,  steady,  good  fellow ! If  thou  wouldst 
quit  preaching,  thou  art  no  fool  after  all.  But  tell  us  the  story 
without  more  bush-beating. 

So  at  last  Yeo  settled  himself  to  his  tale  : — 

“Well,  sirs,  I went,  as  Mr.  Leigh  knows,  to  Nombre  de 
Dios,  with  Mr.  Drake  and  Mr.  Oxenham,  in  1572,  where  what 
we  saw  and  did,  your  worship,  I suppose,  knows  as  well  as  I ; 
and  there  was,  as  you’ve  heard  may  be,  a covenant  between  Mr. 
Oxenham  and  Mr.  Drake  to  sail  the  South  Seas  together,  which 
they  made,  your  worship,  in  my  hearing,  under  the  tree  over 
Panama.  For  when  Mr.  Drake  came  down  from  the  tree,  after 
seeing  the  sea  afar  off,  Mr.  Oxenham  and  I went  up  and  saw  it 
too ; and  when  we  came  down,  Drake  says,  ‘ John,  I have  made 
a vow  to  God  that  I will  sail  that  water,  if  I live  and  God  gives 
me  grace;’  which  he  had  done,  sir,  upon  his  bended  knees,  like 
a godly  man  as  he  always  was,  and  would  I had  taken  after  him ! 
and  Mr.  0.  says,  1 1 am  with  you,  Drake,  to  live  or  die,  and  I 
think  I know  some  one  there  already,  so  we  shall  not  be  quite 
among  strangers  and  laughed  withal.  Well,  sirs,  that  voyage, 
as  you  know,  never  came  off,  because  Captain  Drake  was  fight- 
ing in  Ireland ; so  Mr.  Oxenham,  who  must  be  up  and  doing, 
sailed  for  himself,  and  I who  loved  him,  God  knows,  like  a 
brother  (saving  the  difference  in  our  ranks),  helped  him  to  get 
the  crew  together,  and  went  as  his  gunner.  That  was  in  1575 ; 


Dartmouth. 


CHAP,  vil.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXEN  HAM.  131 

as  you  know,  he  had  a 140-ton  ship,  sir,  and  seventy  men  out 
of  Plymouth  and  Fowey  And  Dartmouth,  and  many  of  them  old 
hands  of  Drake’s,  beside  a dozen  or  so  from  Bideford  that  I 
picked  up  when  I saw  young  Master  here.” 

“ Thank  God  that  you  did  not  pick  me  up  too.” 

“Amen,  amen  !”  said  Yeo,  clasping  his  hands  on  his  breast. 
“ Those  seventy  men,  sir, — seventy  gallant  men,  sir,  with  every 
one  of  them  an  immortal  soul  within  him, — where  are  they  now  T 
Gone,  like  the  spray  !”  And  he  swept  his  hands  abroad  with  a 
wild  and  solemn  gesture.  “ And  their  blood  is  upon  my  head!” 
Both  Sir  Richard  and  Amyas  began  to  suspect  that  the 
man’s  brain  was  not  altogether  sound. 

“ God  forbid,  my  man,”  said  the  knight  kindly. 

“ Thirteen  men  I persuaded  to  join  in  Bideford  town,  beside 
William  Penberthy  of  Marazion,  my  good  comrade.  And  what 
if  it  be  said  to  me  at  the  day  of  judgment,  Salvation  Yeo,  where 
are  those  fourteen  whom  thou  didst  tempt  to  their  deaths  by 
covetousness  and  lust  of  gold1?’  Not  that  I was  alone  in  my 
sin,  if  the  truth  must  be  told.  For  all  the  way  out  Mr.  Oxen- 
ham  was  making  loud  speech,  after  his  pleasant  way,  that  he 
would  make  all  their  fortunes,  and  take  them  to  such  a Paradise, 
that  they  should  have  no  lust  to  come  home  again.  And  I — 
God  knows  why — for  every  one  boast  of  his  would  make  two, 
even  to  lying  and  empty  fables,  and  anything  to  keep  up  the 
men’s  hearts.  For  I had  really  persuaded  myself  that  we  should 
all  find  treasures  beyond  Solomon  his  temple,  and  Mr.  Oxenham 
would  surely  show  us  how  to  conquer  some  golden  city  or  dis- 
cover some  island  all  made  of  precious  stones.  And  one  day,  as 
the  Captain  and  I were  talking  after  our  fashion,  I said,  ‘ And 
you  shall  be  our  king,  Captain.’  To  which  he,  ‘ If  I be,  I shall 
not  be  long  without  a queen,  and  that  no  Indian  one  either.’ 
And  after  that  he  often  jested  about  the  Spanish  ladies,  saying 
that  none  could  show  us  the  way  to  their  hearts  better  than  he. 
Which  speeches  I took  no  count  of  then,  sirs  : but  after  I 
minded  them,  whether  I would  or  not.  Well,  sirs,  we  came  to 
the  shore  of  New  Spain,  near  to  the  old  place — that’s  Nombre 
de  Dios  ; and  there  Mr.  Oxenham  went  ashore  into  the  woods 
with  a boat’s  crew,  to  find  the  negroes  who  helped  us  three  years 
before.  Those  are  the  Gimaroons,  gentles,  negro  slaves  who 
have  fled  from  those  devils  incarnate,  their  Spanish  masters,  and 
live  wild,  like  the  beasts  that  perish  ; men  of  great  stature,  sirs, 
and  fierce  as  wolves  in  the  onslaught,  but  poor  jabbering  mazed 
fellows  if  they  be  but  a bit  dismayed  : and  have  many  Indian 


132  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [CHAP.  VII. 

women  with  them,  who  take  to  these  negroes  a deal  better 
than  to  their  own  kin,  which  breeds  war  enough,  as  you  may 
guess. 

“Well,  sirs,  after  three  days  the  Captain  comes  back,  look- 
ing heavy  enough,  and  says,  ‘We  played  our  trick  once  too 
often,  when  we  played  it  once.  There  is  no  chance  of  stopping 
another  rego  (that  is,  a mule-train,  sirs)  now.  The  Cimaroons 
say  that  since  our  last  visit  they  never  move  without  plenty  of 
soldiers,  two  hundred  shot  at  least.  Therefore/  he  said,  ‘ my 
gallants,  we  must  either  return  empty-handed  from  this,  the 
very  market  and  treasury  of  the  whole  Indies,  or  do  such  a deed 
as  men  never  did  before,  whicli  I shall  like  all  the  better  for 
that  very  reason.’  And  we,  asking  his  meaning,  ‘Why,’  he 
said,  ‘if  Drake  will  not  sail  the  South  Seas,  we  will;’  adding 
profanely  that  Drake  was  like  Moses,  who  beheld  the  promised 
land  afar;  but  he  was  Joshua,  who  would  enter  into  it,  and 
smite  the  inhabitants  thereof.  And,  for  our  confirmation, 
showed  me  and  the  rest  the  superscription  of  a letter : and 
said,  ‘ How  I came  by  this  is  none  of  your  business  : but  I have 
had  it  in  my  bosom  ever  since  I left  Plymouth ; and  I tell  you 
now,  what  I forebore  to  tell  you  at  first,  that  the  South  Seas 
have  been  my  mark  all  along ! such  news  have  I herein  of 
plate-ships,  and  gold-ships,  and  what  not,  which  will  come  up 
from  Quito  and  Lima  this  very  month,  all  which,  with  the 
pearls  of  the  Gulf  of  Panama,  and  other  wealth  unspeakable, 
will  be  ours,  if  we  have  but  true  English  hearts  within  us.’ 

“ At  which,  gentles,  we  were  like  madmen  for  lust  of  that 
gold,  and  cheerfully  undertook  a toil  incredible ; for  first  we 
run  our  ship  aground  in  a great  wood  which  grew  in  the  very 
sea  itself,  and  then  took  out  her  masts,  and  covered  her  in 
boughs,  with  her  four  cast  pieces  of  great  ordnance  (of  which 
more  hereafter),  and  leaving  no  man  in  her,  started  for  the 
South  Seas  across  the  neck  of  Panama,  with  two  small  pieces 
of  ordnance  and  our  culverins,  and  good  store  of  victuals,  and 
with  us  six  of  those  negroes  for  a guide,  and  so  twelve  leagues 
to  a river  which  runs  into  the  South  Sea. 

“And  there,  having  cut  wood,  we  made  a pinnace  (and 
work  enough  we  had  at  it)  of  five-and-forty  foot  in  the  keel ; 
and  in  her  down  the  stream,  and  to  the  Isle  of  Pearls  in  the 
Gulf  of  Panama.” 

“Into  the  South  Sea?  Impossible!”  said  Sir  Richard, 
“ Have  a care  what  you  say,  my  man  ; for  there  is  that  about 
you  which  would  make  me  sorry  to  find  you  out  a liar.” 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


133 


CHAP.  VII.  ] 

“ Impossible  or  not,  liar  or  none,  we  went  there,  sir.” 
“Question  him,  Amyas,  lest  he  turn  out  to  have  been 
beforehand  with  you.” 

The  man  looked  inquiringly  at  Amyas,  who  said — 

“ Well,  my  man,  of  the  Gulf  of  Panama  I cannot  ask  you, 
for  I never  was  inside  it,  but  what  other  parts  of  the  coast  do 
you  know  !” 

“ Every  inch,  sir,  from  Cabo  San  Francisco  to  Lima ; more 
is  my  sorrow,  for  I was  a galley-slave  there  for  two  years  and 
more.” 

“You  know  Lima?” 

“ I was  there  three  times,  worshipful  gentlemen,  and  the 
last  was  February  come  two  years ; and  there  I helped  lade  a 
great  plate-ship,  the  ‘ Cacafuogo,’  they  called  her.” 

Amyas  started.  Sir  Richard  nodded  to  him  gently  to  be 
silent,  and  then— 

“ And  what  became  of  her,  my  lad  ?” 

“ God  knows,  who  knows  all,  and  the  devil  who  freighted 
her.  I broke  prison  six  weeks  afterwards,  and  never  heard 
but  that  she  got  safe  into  Panama.” 

“ You  never  heard,  then,  that  she  was  taken  ?” 

“ Taken,  your  worships  ! Who  should  take  her  !” 

“Why  should  not  a good  English  ship  take  her  as  well  as 
another!”  said  Amyas. 

“ Lord  love  you,  sir ; yes  faith,  if  they  had  but  been  there. 
Many’s  the  time  that  I thought  to  myself,  as  we  went  along- 
side, ‘ Oh,  if  Captain  Drake  was  but  here,  well  to  windward, 
and  our  old  crew  of  the  Dragon  !’  Ask  your  pardon,  gentles  : 
but  how  is  Captain  Drake,  if  I may  make  so  bold  !” 

Neither  could  hold  out  longer. 

“Fellow,  fellow!”'  cried  Sir  Richard,  springing  up,  “either 
thou  art  the  cunningest  liar  that  ever  earned  a halter,  or  thou 
hast  done  a deed  the  like  of  which  never  man  adventured. 
Dost  thou  not  know  that  Captain  Drake  took  that  ‘ Cacafuogo  ’ 
and  all  her  freight,  in  February  come  two  years!” 

“Captain  Drake!  God  forgive  me,  sir;  but  — Captain 
Drake  in  the  South  Seas ! He  saw  them,  sir,  from  the  tree- 
top  over  Panama,  when  I was  with  him,  and  I too ; but  sailed 
them,  sir ! — sailed  them !” 

“Yes,  and  round  the  world  too,”  said  Amyas,  “and  I with 
him  ; and  took  that  very  ‘ Cacafuogo  ’ off  Cape  San  Francisco, 
as  *he  came  up  to  Panama.” 

Due  glance  at  the  man’s  face  was  enough  to  prove  his  sin- 


134 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[chap.  vij. 


cerity.  The  great  stern  Anabaptist,  who  had  not  winced  at 
the  news  of  his  mother’s  death,  dropt  right  on  his  knees  on  the 
floor,  and  burst  into  violent  sobs. 

“Glory  to  God  ! Glory  to  God  ! 0 Lord,  I thank  thee  ! 

Captain  Drake  in  the  South  Seas  ! The  blood  of  thy  innocents 
avenged,  0 Lord  ! The  spoiler  spoiled,  and  the  proud  robbed ; 
and  all  they  whose  hands  were  mighty  have  found  nothing. 
Glory,  glory  ! Oh,  tell  me,  sir,  did  she  fight  V’ 

“We  gave  her  three  pieces  of  ordnance  only,  and  struck 
down  her  mizen  mast,  and  then  boarded  sword  in  hand,  but 
never  had  need  to  strike  a blow ; and  before  we  left  her,  one 
of  her  own  boys  had  changed  her  name,  and  rechristened  her 
the  ‘ Cacaplata.’” 

“ Glory,  glory  ! Cowards  they  are,  as  I told  them.  I told 
them  they  never  could  stand  the  Devon  mastiffs,  and  well  they 
flogged  me  for  saying  it ; but  they  could  not  stop  my  mouth. 
0 sir,  tell  me,  did  you  get  the  ship  that  came  up  after  her'?” 

“ What  was  that  V ’ 

“ A long  race-ship,  sir,  from  Guayaquil,  with  an  old  gentle- 
man on  board, — Don  Francisco  de  Xararte  was  his  name,  and 
by  token,  he  had  a gold  falcon  hanging  to  a chain  round  his 
neck,  and  a green  stone  in  the  breast  of  it.  I saw  it  as  we 
rowed  him  aboard.  0 tell  me,  sir,  tell  me  for  the  love  of  God, 
did  you  take  that  ship '?” 

“We  did  take  that  ship,  and  the  jewel  too,  and  her  Majesty 
has  it  at  this  very  hour.” 

“ Then  tell  me,  sir,”  said  he  slowly,  as  if  he  dreaded  an 
answer ; “ tell  me,  sir,  and  oh,  try  and  mind — was  there  a little 
maid  aboard  with  the  old  gentleman?” 

“ A little  maid  ? Let  me  think.  No ; I saw  none.” 

The  man  settled  his  features  again  sadly. 

“ I thought  not.  I never  saw  her  come  aboard.  Still  I 
hoped,  like ; I hoped.  Alackaday  ! God  help  me,  Salvation 
Yeo  !” 

“What  have  you  to  do  with  this  little  maid,  then,  good 
fellow  ! ” asked  Grenvile. 

“ Ah,  sir,  before  I tell  you  that,  I must  go  back  and  finish 
the  story  of  Mr.  Oxenham,  if  you  will  believe  me  enough  to 
hear  it.” 

“I  do  believe  thee,  good  fellow,  and  honour  thee  too.” 

“ Then,  sir,  I can  speak  with  a free  tongue.  Where  was  I?” 
“ Where  was  he,  Amyas.” 

“ At  the  Isle  of  Pearls.” 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  i<35 

“ And  yet,  0 gentles,  tell  me  first,  how  Captain  Drake  came 
into  the  South  Seas : — over  the  neck,  as  we  didl” 

“ Through  the  Straits,  good  fellow,  like  any  Spaniard  : hut 
go  on  with  thy  story,  and  thou  shalt  have  Mr.  Leigh’s  after.” 

“ Through  the  Straits  ! 0 glory  ! But  I’ll  tell  my  tale. 

Well,  sirs  both — To  the  Island  of  Pearls  we  came,  we  and  some 
of  the  negroes.  We  found  many  huts,  and  Indians  fishing  for 
pearls,  and  also  a fair  house,  with  porches  ; but  no  Spaniard 
therein,  save  one  man ; at  which  Mr.  Oxenham  was  like  a man 
transported,  and  fell  on  that  Spaniard,  crying,  ‘ Perro,  where  is 
your  mistress  1 Where  is  the  bark  from  Lima  V To  which  he 
boldly  enough,  ‘What  was  his  mistress  to  the  Englishman V 
But  Mr.  0.  threatened  to  twine  a cord  round  his  head  till  his 
eyes  burst  out ; and  the  Spaniard,  being  terrified,  said  that  the 
ship  from  Lima  was  expected  in  a fortnight’s  time.  So  for  ten 
days  we  lay  quiet,  letting  neither  negro  nor  Spaniard  leave  the 
island,  and  took  good  store  of  pearls,  feeding  sumptuously  on 
wild  cattle  and  hogs  until  the  tenth  day,  when  there  came  by 
a small  bark ; her  we  took,  and  found  her  frofri  Quito,  and  on 
board  60,000  pezos  of  gold  and  other  store.  With  which  if 
we  had  been  content,  gentlemen,  all  had  gone  well.  And  some 
were  willing  to  go  back  at  once,  having  both  treasure  and  pearls 
in  plenty ; but  Mr.  O.,  he  waxed  right  mad,  and  swore  to  slay 
any  one  who  made  that  motion  again,  assuring  us  that  the  Lima 
ship  of  which  he  had  news  was  far  greater  and  richer,  and  would 
make  princes  of  us  all ; which  bark  came  in  sight  on  the  six- 
teenth day,  and  was  taken  without  shot  or  slaughter.  The  taking 
of  which  bark,  I verily  believe,  was  the  ruin  of  every  mother’s 
son  of  us.” 

And  being  asked  why,  he  answered,  “ First,  because  of  the 
discontent  which  was  bred  thereby ; for  on  board  was  found  no 
gold,  but  only  100,000  pezos  of  silver.” 

Sir  Richard  Grenvile. — Thou  greedy  fellow ; and  was  not 
that  enough  to  stay  your  stomachs  % 

Yeo  answered  that  he  would  to  God  it  had  been  ; and  that, 
moreover,  the  weight  of  that  silver  was  afterwards  a hindrance 
to  them,  and  a fresh  cause  of  discontent,  as  he  would  afterwards 
declare.  “ So  that  it  had  been  well  for  us,  sirs,  if  we  had  left 
it  behind,  as  Mr.  Drake  left  his  three  years  before,  and  carried 
away  the  gold  only.  In  which  I do  see  the  evident  hand  of 
God,  and  His  just  punishment  for  our  greediness  of  gain  ; who 
caused  Mr.  Oxenham,  by  whom  we  had  hoped  to  attain  great 
wealth,  to  be  a snare  to  us,  and  a cause  of  utter  ruin.” 


136  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [CHAP.  vil. 

“ Do  you  think,  then,”  said  Sir  Richard,  “ that  Mr.  Oxen- 
ham  deceived  you  wilfully?” 

“ I will  never  believe  that  sir  : Mr.  Oxenham  had  his 
private  reasons  for  waiting  for  that  ship,  for  the  sake  of  one  on 
board,  whose  face  would  that  he  had  never  seen,  though  he  saw 
it  then,  as  I fear,  not  for  the  first  time  by  many  a one.”  And 
so  was  silent. 

“Come,”  said  both  his  hearers,  “you  have  brought  us  thus 
far,  and  you  must  go  on.” 

“ Gentlemen,  I have  concealed  this  matter  from  all  men, 
both  on  my  voyage  home  and  since ; and  I hope  you  will  be 
secret  iu  the  matter,  for  the  honour  of  my  noble  Captain,  and 
the  comfort  of  his  friends  who  are  alive.  For  I think  it  shame 
to  publish  harm  of  a gallant  gentleman,  and  of  an  ancient  and 
worshipful  family,  and  to  me  a true  and  kind  Captain,  when 
what  is  done  cannot  be  undone,  and  least  said  soonest  mended. 
Neither  now  would  I have  spoken  of  it,  but  that  I was  inwardly 
moved  to  it  for  the  sake  of  that  young  gentleman  there  (looking 
at  Amyas),  that  he  might  be  warned  in  time  of  God’s  wrath 
against  the  crying  sin  of  adultery,  and  flee  youthful  lusts,  which 
war  against  the  soul.” 

“ Thou  hast  done  wisely  enough,  then,”  said  Sir  Richard ; 
“ and  look  to  it  if  I do  not  reward  thee  : but  the  young  gentle- 
man here,  thank  God,  needs  no  such  warnings,  having  got  them 
already  both  by  precept  and  example,  where  thou  and  poor 
Oxenham  might  have  had  them  also.” 

“You  mean  Captain  Drake,  your  worship ?” 

“ I do,  sirrah.  If  all  men  were  as  clean  livers  as  he,  the 
world  would  be  spared  one  half  the  tears  that  are  shed  in  it.” 

“ Amen,  sir.  At  least  there  would  have  been  many  a tear 
spared  to  us  and  ours.  For — as  all  must  out — in  that  bark  of 
Lima  he  took  a young  lady,  as  fair  as  the  sunshine,  sir,  and 
seemingly  about  two  or  three-and-twenty  years  of  age,  having 
with  her  a tall  young  lad  of  sixteen,  and  a little  girl,  a marvel- 
lously pretty  child,  of  about  a six  or  seven.  And  the  lady  herself 
was  of  an  excellent  beauty,  like  a whale’s  tooth  for  whiteness, 
so  that  all  the  crew  wondered  at  her,  and  could  not  be  satisfied 
with  looking  upon  her.  And,  gentlemen,  this  was  strange,  that 
the  lady  seemed  in  no  wise  afraid  or  mournful,  and  bid  her  little 
girl  fear  nought,  as  did  also  Mr.  Oxenham  : but  the  lad  kept  a 
very  sour  countenance,  and  the  more  when  he  saw  the  lady  and 
Mr.  Oxenham  speaking  together  apart. 

“ Well,  sir,  after  this  good  luck  we  were  minded  to  have 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


137 


CHAP.  VII.] 

gone  straight  back  to  the  river  whence  we  came,  and  so  home 
to  England  with  all  speed.  But  Mr.  Oxenham  persuaded  us 
to  return  to  the  island,  and  get  a few  more  pearls.  To  which 
foolishness  (which  after  caused  the  mishap)  I verily  believe  he 
was  moved  by  the  instigation  of  the  devil  and  of  that  lady.  For 
as  we  were  about  to  go  ashore,  I,  going  down  into  the  cabin  of 
the  prize,  saw  Mr.  Oxenham  and  that  lady  making  great  cheer 
of  each  other  with,  ‘ My  life,’  and  ‘ My  king/  and  ‘ Light  of  my 
eyes/  and  such  toys ; and  being  bidden  by  Mr.  Oxenham  to  fetch 
out  the  lady’s  mails,  and  take  them  ashore,  heard  how  the  two 
laughed  together  about  the  old  ape  of  Panama  (which  ape,  or 
devil  rather,  I saw  afterwards  to  my  cost),  and  also  how  she 
said  that  she  had  been  dead  for  five  years,  and  now  that  Mr. 
Oxenham  was  come,  she  was  alive  again,  and  so  forth. 

“ Mr.  Oxenham  bade  take  the  little  maid  ashore,  kissing 
her  and  playing  with  her,  and  saying  to  the  lady,  ‘ What  is 
yours  is  mine,  and' what  is  mine  is  yours.’  And  she  asking 
whether  the  lad  should  come  ashore,  he  answered,  ‘ He  is  neither 
yours  nor  mine ; let  the  spawn  of  Beelzebub  stay  on  shore.’ 
After  which  I,  coming  on  deck  again,  stumbled  over  that  very 
lad,  upon  the  hatchway  ladder,  who  bore  so  black  and  despite- 
ful a face,  that  I verily  believe  he  had  overheard  their  speech, 
and  so  thrust  him  upon  deck ; and  going  below  again,  told  Mr. 
Oxenham  what  I thought,  and  said  that  it  were  better  to  put 
a dagger  into  him  at  once,  professing  to  be  ready  so  to  do. 
For  which  grievous  sin,  seeing  that  it  was  committed  in  my 
unregenerate  days,  I hope  I have  obtained  the  grace  of  forgive- 
ness, as  I have  that  of  hearty  repentance.  But  the  lady  cried 
out,  ‘ Though  he  be  none  of  mine,  I have  sin  enough  already  on 
my  soul;’  and  so  laid  her  hand  on  Mr.  Oxenham’s  mouth,  en- 
treating pitifully.  And  Mr.  Oxenham  answered  laughing,  when 
she  would  let  him,  ‘What  care  wel  let  the  young  monkey  go 
and  howl  to  the  old  one ;’  and  so  went  ashore  with  the  lady  to 
that  house,  whence  for  three  days  he  never  came  forth,  and 
would  have  remained  longer,  but  that  the  men,  finding  but  few 
pearls,  and  being  wearied  with  the  watching  and  warding  so 
many  Spaniards,  and  negroes  came  clamouring  to  him,  and 
swore  that  they  would  return  or  leave  him  there  with  the 
lady.  So  all  went  on  board  the  pinnace  again,  every  one  in  ill 
humour  with  the  Captain,  and  he  with  them. 

“Well,  sirs,  we  came  back  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and 
there  began  our  troubles  ; for  the  negroes,  as  soon  as  we  were 
on  shore,  called  on  Mr.  Oxenham  to  fulfil  the  bargain  he  had 


138  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [CHAP.  vn. 

made  with  them.  And  now  it  came  out  (what  few  of  us  knew 
till  then)  that  he  had  agreed  with  the  Cimaroons  that  they 
should  have  all  the  prisoners  which  were  taken,  save  the  gold. 
And  he,  though  loth,  was  about  to  give  up  the  Spaniards  to 
them,  near  forty  in  all,  supposing  that  they  intended  to  use 
them  as  slaves : but  as  we  all  stood  talking,  one  of  the  Spaniards, 
understanding  what  was  forward,  threw  himself  on  his  knees 
before  Mr.  Oxenham,  and  shrieking  like  a madman,  entreated 
not  to  be  given  up  into  the  hands  of  ‘ those  devils,’  said  he, 
‘ who  never  take  a Spanish  prisoner,  but  they  roast  him  alive, 
and  then  eat  his  heart  among  them.’  We  asked  the  negroes  if 
this  was  possible  ? To  which  some  answered,  What  was  that 
to  us  1 But  others  said  boldly,  that  it  was  true  enough,  and 
that  revenge  made  the  best  sauce,  and  nothing  was  so  sweet  as 
Spanish  blood ; and  one,  pointing  to  the  lady,  said  such  foul 
and  devilish  things  as  I should  be  ashamed  either  for  me  to 
speak,  or  you  to  hear.  At  this  we  were  like  men  amazed  for 
very  horror;  and  Mr.  Oxenham  said,  ‘You  incarnate  fiends,  if 
you  had  taken  these  fellows  for  slaves,  it  had  been  fair  enough; 
for  you  were  once  slaves  to  them,  and  I doubt  not  cruelly  used 
enough  : but  as  for  this  abomination,’  says  he,  ‘ God  do  so  to 
me,  and  more  also,  if  I let  one  of  them  come  into  your  murder- 
ous hands.’  So  there  was  a great  quarrel ; but  Mr.  Oxenham 
stoutly  bade  put  the  prisoners  on  board  the  ships  again,  and  so 
let  the  prizes  go,  taking  with  him  only  the  treasure,  and  the 
lady  and  the  little  maid.  And  so  the  lad  went  on  to  Panama, 
God’s  wrath  having  gone  out  against  us. 

“ Well,  sirs,  the  Cimaroons  after  that  went  away  from  us, 
swearing  revenge  (for  which  we  cared  little  enough),  and  we 
rowed  up  the  river  to  a place  where  three  streams  met,  and 
then  up  the  least  of  the  three,  some  four  days’  journey,  till  it 
grew  all  shoal  and  swift ; and  there  we  hauled  the  pinnace 
upon  the  sands,  and  Mr.  Oxenham  asked  the  men  whether  they 
were  willing  to  carry  the  gold  and  silver  over  the  mountains  to 
the  North  Sea.  Some  of  them  at  first  were  loth  to  do  it,  and 
I and  others  advised  that  we  should  leave  the  plate  behind, 
and  take  the  gold  only,  for  it  would  have  cost  us  three  or  four 
journeys  at  the  least.  But  Mr.  Oxenham  promised  every  man 
100  pezos  of  silver  over  and  above  his  wages,  which  made  them 
content  enough,  and  we  were  all  to  start  the  morrow  morning. 
But,  sirs,  that  night,  as  God  had  ordained,  came  a mishap  by 
some  rash  speeches  of  Mr.  Oxenham’s,  which  threw  all  abroad 
again ; for  when  we  had  carried  the  treasure  about  half  a league 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


139 


CHAP.  VII.] 


inland,  and  hidden  it  away  in  a house  which  we  made  of  boughs, 
Mr.  0.  being  always  full  of  that  his  fair  lady,  spoke  to  me  and 
William  Penberthy  of  Marazion,  my  good  comrade,  and  a few 
more,  saying,  4 That  we  had  no  need  to  return  to  England,  see- 
ing that  we  were  already  in  the  very  garden  of  Eden,  and 
wanted  for  nothing,  but  could  live  without  labour  or  toil ; and 
that  it  was  better,  when  we  got  over  to  the  North  Sea,  to  go 
and  seek  out  some  fair  island,  and  there  dwell  in  joy  and  plea- 
sure till  our  lives’  end.  And  we  two,’  he  said,  ‘will  be  king 
and  queen,  and  you,  whom  I can  trust,  my  officers ; and  for 
servants  we  will  have  the  Indians,  who,  I warrant,  will  be  more 
fain  to  serve  honest  and  merry  masters  like  us  than  those 
Spanish  devils,’  and  much  more  of  the  like ; which  words  I 
liked  well, — my  mind,  alas  ! being  given  altogether  to  carnal, 
pleasure  and  vanity, — as  did  William  Penberthy,  my  good 
comrade,  on  whom  I trust  God  has  had  mercy.  But  the  rest, 
sirs,  took  the  matter  all  across,  and  began  murmuring  against 
the  Captain,  saying  that  poor  honest  mariners  like  them  had 
always  the  labour  and  the  pain,  while  he  took  his  delight  with 
his  lady ; and  that  they  would  have  at  least  one  merry  night 
before  they  were  slain  by  the  Cimaroons,  or  eaten  by  panthers 
and  lagartos  ; and  so  got  out  of  the  pinnace  twTo  great  skins  of 
Canary  wine,  which  were  taken  in  the  Lima  prize,  and  sat 
themselves  down  to  drink.  Moreover,  there  were  in  the  pin- 
nace a great  sight  of  hens,  which  came  from  the  same  prize,  by 
which  Mr.  0.  set  great  store,  keeping  them  for  the  lady  and 
the  little  maid ; and  falling  upon  these,  the  men  began  to 
blaspheme,  saying,  ‘ What  a plague  had  the  Captain  to  fill  the 
boat  with  dirty  live  lumber  for  that  giglet’s  sake?  They  had 
a better  right  to  a good  supper  than  ever  she  had,  and  might 
fast  awhile  to  cool  her  hot  blood ;’  and  so  cooked  and  ate  those 
hens,  plucking  them  on  board  the  pinnace,  and  letting  the 
feathers  fall  into  the  stream.  But  when  William  Penberthy, 
my  good  comrade,  saw  the  feathers  floating  away  down,  he 
asked  them  if  they  were  mad,  to  lay  a trail  by  which  the 
Spaniards  would  surely  track  them  out,  if  they  came  after 
them,  as  without  doubt  they  would.  But.  they  laughed  him  to 
scorn,  and  said  that  no  Spanish  cur  dared  follow  on  the  heels 
of  true  English  mastiffs  as  they  were,  and  other  boastful 
speeches ; and  at  last,  being  heated  with  wine,  began  afresh  to 
murmur  at  the  Captain.  And  one  speaking  of  his  counsel  about 
the  island,  the  rest  altogether  took  it  amiss  and  out  of  the  way ; 
and  some  sprang  up  crying  treason,  and  others  that  he  meant 


140 


TRUE, AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[CHAP.  VII. 


to  defraud  them  of  the  plate  which  he  had  promised,  and  others 
that  he  meant  to  desert  them  in  a strange  land,  and  so  forth, 
till  Mr.  0.,  hearing  the  hubbub,  came  out  to  them  from  the 
house,  when  they  reviled  him  foully,  swearing  that  he  meant 
to  cheat  them ; and  one  Edward  Stiles,  a Wapping  man,  mad 
with  drink,  dared  to  say  that  he  was  a fool  for  not  giving  up 
the  prisoners  to  the  negroes,  and  what  was  it  to  him  if  the  lady 
roasted  1 the  negroes  should  have  her  yet ; and  drawing  his 
sword,  ran  upon  the  Captain  : for  which  I was  about  to  strike 
him  through  the  body ; but  the  Captain,  not  caring  to  waste 
steel  on  such  a ribald,  with  his  fist  caught  him  such  a buffet 
behind  the  ear,  that  he  fell  down  stark  dead,  and  all  the  rest 
stood  amazed.  Then  Mr.  Oxenham  called  out,  ‘All  honest 
men  who  know  me,  and  can  trust  me,  stand  by  your  lawful 
Captain  against  these  ruffians. ’ Whereon,  sirs,  I,  and  Penberthy 
my  good  comrade,  and  four  Plymouth  men,  who  had  sailed  with 
Mr.  0.  in  Mr.  Drake’s  ship,  and  knew  his  trusty  and  valiant 
conditions,  came  over  to  him,  and  swore  before  God  to  stand  by 
him  and  the  lady.  Then  said  Mr.  0.  to  the  rest,  ‘ Will  you 
carry  this  treasure,  knaves,  or  will  you  not  1 Give  me  an 
answer  here.’  And  they  refused,  unless  he  would,  before  they 
started,  give  each  man  his  shave.  So  Mr.  0.  waxed  very  mad, 
and  swore  that  he  would  never  be  served  by  men  who  did  not 
trust  him,  and  so  went  in  again ; and  that  night  was  spent  in 
great  disquiet,  I and  those  five  others  keeping  watch  about  the 
house  of  boughs  till  the  rest  fell  asleep,  in  their  drink.  And 
next  morning,  when  the  wine  was  gone  out  of  them,  Mr.  0. 
asked  them  whether  they  would  go  to  the  hills  with  him,  and 
find  those  negroes,  and  persuade  them  after  all  to  carry  the 
treasure.  To  which  they  agreed  after  awhile,  thinking  that  so 
they  should  save  themselves  labour;  and  went  off  with  Mr. 
Oxenham,  leaving  us  six  who  had  stood  by  him  to  watch  the 
lady  and  the  treasure,  after  he  had  taken  an  oath  of  us  that  we 
would  deal  justly  and  obediently  by  him  and  by  her,  which 
God  knows,  gentlemen,  we  did.  So  he  parted  with  much 
weeping  and  wailing  of  the  lady,  and  was  gone  seven  days ; 
and  all  that  time  we  kept  that  lady  faithfully  and  honestly, 
bringing  her  the  best  we  could  find,  and  serving  her  upon  our 
bended  knees,  both  for  her  admirable  beauty and  for  her  excel- 
lent conditions,  for  she  was  certainly  of  some  noble  kin,  and 
courteous,  and  without  fear,  as  if  she  had  been  a very  princess. 
But  she  kept  always  within  the  house,  which  the  little  maid 
(God  bless  her  !)  did  not,  but  soon  learned  to  play  with  us  and 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  141 

we  with  her,  so  that  we  made  great  cheer  of  her,  gentlemen, 
sailor  fashion — for  you  know  we  must  always  have  our  minioi.s 
aboard  to  pet  and  amuse  us — maybe  a monkey,  or  a little  dog, 
or  a singing  bird,  ay,  or  mice  and  spiders,  if  we  have  nothing 
better  to  play  withal.  And  she  was  wonderful  sharp,  sirs,  was 
the  little  maid,  and  picked  up  her  English  from  us  fast,  calling 
us  jolly  mariners,  which  I doubt  but  she  has  forgotten  by  now, 
but  I hope  in  God  it  be  not  so and  therewith  the  good  fellow 
began  wiping  his  eyes. 

“Well,  sir,  on  the  seventh  day  we  six  were  down  by  the 
pinnace  clearing  her  out,  and  the  little  maid  with  us  gathering 
of  flowers,  and  William  Penberthy  fishing  on  the  bank,  about  a 
hundred  yards  below,  when  on  a sudden  he  leaps  up  and  runs 
toward  us,  crying,  ‘ Here  come  our  hens’  feathers  back  again 
with  a vengeance  !’  and  so  bade  catch  up  the  little  maid,  and 
run  for  the  house,  for  the  Spaniards  were  upon  us. 

“ Which  was  too  true  ; for  before  we  could  win  the 
house,  there  were  full  eighty  shot  at  our  heels,  but  could  not 
overtake  us ; nevertheless,  some  of  them  stopping,  fixed  their 
calivers  and  let  fly,  killing  one  of  the  Plymouth  men.  The  rest 
of  us  escaped  to  the  hoime,  and  catching  up  the  lady,  fled  forth, 
not  knowing  whither  we  went,  while  the  Spaniards,  finding  the 
house  and  treasure,  pursued  us  no  farther. 

“For  all  that  day  and  the  next  we  wandered  in  great 
misery,  the  lady  weeping  continually,  and  calling  for  Mr. 
Oxenham  most  piteously,  and  the  little  maid  likewise,  till 
with  much  ado  we  found  the  track  of  our  comrades,  and  went 
up  that  as  best  we  might  : but  at  nightfall,  by  good  hap,  we 
met  the  whole  crew  coming  back,  and  with  them  200  negroes 
or  more,  with  bows  and  arrows.  At  which  sight  was  great  joy 
and  embracing,  and  it  was  a strange  thing,  sirs,  to  see  the  lady ; 
for  before  that  she  was  altogether  desperate  : and  yet  she  was 
now  a very  lioness,  as  soon  as  she  had  got  her  love  again  ; and 
prayed  him  earnestly  not  to  care  for  that  gold,  but  to  go  for- 
ward to  the  North  Sea,  vowing  to  him  in  my  hearing  that  she 
cared  no  more  for  poverty  than  she  had  cared  for  her  good 
name,  and  then — they  being  a little  apart  from  the  rest — 
pointed  round  to  the  green  forest,  and  said  in  Spanish — which 
I suppose  they  knew  not  that  I understood, — * See,  all  round 
us  is  Paradise.  Were  it  not  enough  for  you  and  me  to  stay 
here  for  ever,  and  let  them  take  the  gold  or  leave  it  as  they 
will  V 

“ To  which  Mr.  Oxenham — ‘ Those  who  lived  in  Paradise 


142 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[chap.  vii. 


had  not  sinned  as  we  have,  and  would  never  have  grown  old  or 
sick,  as  we  shall.’ 

“And  she — ‘If  we  do  that,  there  are  poisons  enough  in 
these  woods,  by  which  we  may  die  in  each  other’s  arms,  as 
would  to  Heaven  we  had  died  seven  years  agone  !’ 

“But  he — ‘No,  no,  my  life.  It  stands  upon  my  honour 
both  to  fulfil  my  bond  with  these  men,  whom  I have  brought 
hither,  and  to  take  home  to  England  at  least  something  of  my 
prize  as  a proof  of  my  own  valour.’ 

“Then  she  smiling — ‘Am  I not  prize  enough,  and  proof 
enough?’  But  he  would  not  be  so  tempted,  and  turning  to  us 
offered  us  the  half  of  that  treasure,  if  we  would  go  back  with 
him,  and  rescue  it  from  the  Spauiard.  At  which  the  lady  wept 
and  wailed  much ; but  I took  upon  myself  to  comfort  her, 
though  I was  but  a simple  mariner,  telling  her  that  it  stood 
upon  Mr.  Oxenham’s  honour ; and  that  in  England  nothing 
was  esteemed  so  foul  as  cowardice,  or  breaking  word  and  troth 
betwixt  man  and  man ; and  that  better  was  it  for  him  to  die 
seven  times  by  the  Spaniards,  than  to  face  at  home  the  scorn 
of  all  who  sailed  the  seas.  So,  after  much  ado,  back  they  went 
again ; I and  Penberthy,  and  the  three  Plymouth  men  which 
escaped  from  the  pinnace,  keeping  the  lady  as  before. 

“Well,  sirs,  we  waited  five  days,  having  made  houses  of 
boughs  as  before,  without  hearing  aught ; and  on  the  sixth  we 
saw  coming  afar  off  Mr.  Oxenham,  and  with  him  fifteen  or 
twenty  men,  who  seemed  very  weary  and  wounded ; and  when 
we  looked  for  the  rest  to  be  behind  them,  behold  there  were 
no  more  ; at  which,  sirs,  as  you  may  well  think,  our  hearts 
sank  within  us. 

“And  Mr.  0.,  coming  nearer,  cried  out  afar  off,  ‘All  is 
lost !’  and  so  walked  into  the  camp  without  a word,  and  sat 
himself  down  at  the  foot  of  a great  tree  with  his  head  between 
his  hands,  speaking  neither  to  the  lady  or  to  any  one,  till  she 
very  pitifully  kneeling  before  him,  cursing  herself  for  the  cause 
of  all  his  mischief,  and  praying  him  to  avenge  himself  upon 
that  her  tender  body,  won  him  hardly  to  look  once  upon  her, 
after  which  (as  is  the  way  of  vain  and  unstable  man)  all  between 
them  was  as  before. 

“ But  the  men  were  full  of  curses  against  the  negroes,  for 
their  cowardice  and  treachery ; yea,  and  against  high  Heaven 
itself,  which  had  put  the  most  part  of  their  ammunition  into 
the  Spaniards’  hands  • and  told  me,  and  I believe  truly,  how 
they  forced  the  enemy  awaiting  them  in  a little  copse  of  great 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


143 


CIIAP.  VII.] 


trees,  well  fortified  with  barricades  of  boughs,  and  having  with 
them  our  two  falcons,  which  they  had  taken  out  of  the  pinnace. 
And  how  Mr.  Oxenhain  divided  both  the  English  and  the 
negroes  into  two  bands,  that  one  might  attack  the  enemy  in 
front,  and  the  other  in  the  rear,  and  so  set  upon  them  with 
great  fury,  and  would  have  utterly  driven  them  out,  but  that 
the  negroes,  who  had  come  on  with  much  howling,  like  very 
wild  beasts,  being  suddenly  scared  with  the  shot  and  noise  of 
the  ordnance,  turned  and  fled,  leaving  the  Englishmen  alone; 
in  which  evil  strait  Mr.  0.  fought  like  a very  Guy  of  Warwick, 
and  I verily  believe  every  man  of  them  likewise ; for  there  was 
none  of  them  who  had  not  his  shrewd  scratch  to  show.  And 
indeed,  Mr.  Oxenham’s  party  had  once  gotten  within  the  barri- 
cades, but  the  Spaniards  being  sheltered  by  the  tree  trunks 
(and  especially  by  one  mighty  tree,  which  stood  as  I remem- 
bered it,  and  remember  it  now,  borne  up  two  fathoms  high 
upon  its  own  roots,  as  it  were  upon  arches  and  pillars),  shot  at 
them  with  such  advantage,  that  they  had  several  slain,  and 
seven  more  taken  alive,  only  among  the  roots  of  that  tree.  So 
seeing  that  they  could  prevail  nothing,  having  little  but  their 
pikes  and  swords,  they  were  fain  to  give  back ; though  Mr. 
Oxenham  swore  he  would  not  stir  a foot,  and  making  at  the 
Spanish  Captain  was  borne  down  with  pikes,  and  hardly  pulled 
away  by  some,  who  at  last  reminding  him  of  his  lady,  persuaded 
him  to  come  away  with  the  rest.  Whereon  the  other  party  fled 
also ; but  what  had  become  of  them  they  knew  not,  for  they 
took  another  way.  And  so  they  miserably  drew  off,  having 
lost  in  men  eleven  killed  and  seven  taken  alive,  besides  five  of 
the  rascal  negroes  who  were  killed  before  they  had  time  to  run  ; 
and  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter. 1 

] In  the  documents  from  which  I have  drawn  this  veracious  history, 
a note  is  appended  to  this  point  of  Yeo’s  story,  which  seems  to  me  to 
smack  sufficiently  of  the  old  Elizabethan  seaman,  to  be  inserted  at  length. 

“All  so  far,  and  most  after,  agreeth  with  Lopez  Yaz  his  tale,  taken 
from  his  pocket  by  my  Lord  Cumberland’s  mariners  at  the  river  Plate,  in 
the  year  1586.  But  note  here  his  vainglory  and  falsehood,  or  else  fear  of 
the  Spaniard. 

“ First,  lest  it  should  be  seen  how  great  an.  advantage  the  Spaniards 
had,  he  maketh  no  mention  of  the  English  calivers,  nor  those  two  pieces 
of  ordnance  which  were  in  the  pinnace. 

“ Second,  he  saith  nothing  of  the  flight  of  the  Cimaroons  : though  it 
was  evidently  to  be  gathered  from  that  which  he  himself  saith,  that  of  less 
than  seventy  English  were  slain  eleven,  and  of  the  negroes  but  five.  And 
while  of  the  English  seven  were  taken  alive,  yet  of  the  negroes  none.  And 
why,  but  because  the  rascals  ran  ? 

‘ ‘ Thirdly,  it  is  a thing  incredible,  and  out  of  experience,  that  eleven 


144 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[chap.  vir. 


“ But  the  next  day,  gentlemen,  in  came  some  five-and- 
twenty  more,  being  the  wreck  of  the  other  party,  and  with  them 
a few  negroes ; and  these  last  proved  themselves  no  honester 
men  than  they  were  brave,  for  there  being  great  miseiy  among 
us  English,  and  every  one  of  us  straggling  where  he  could  to 
get  food,  every  day  one  or  more  who  went  out  never  came  back, 
and  that  caused  a suspicion  that  the  negroes  had  betrayed  them 
to  the  Spaniards,  or  may  be,  slain  and  eaten  them.  So  these 
fellows  being  upbraided,  with  that  altogether  left  us,  telling  us 
boldly,  that  if  they  had  eaten  our  fellows,  we  owed  them  a debt 
instead  of  the  Spanish  prisoners  ; and  we,  in  great  terror  and 
hunger,  went  forward  and  over  the  mountains  till  we  came  to 
a little  river  which  ran  northward,  which  seemed  to  lead  into 
the  Northern  Sea;  and  there  Mr.  0. — who,  sirs,  I will  say, 
after  his  first  rage  was  over,  behaved  himself  all  through  like 
a valiant  and  skilful  commander — bade  us  cut  down  trees  and 
make  canoes,  to  go  down  to  the  sea ; which  we  began  to  do 


English  should  be  slain  and  seven  taken,  with  loss  only  of  two  Spaniards 
killed. 

“Search  now,  and  see  (for  I will  not  speak  of  mine  own  small  doings), 
in  all  those  memorable  voyages,  which  the  worthy  and  learned  Mr.  Hak- 
luyt hath  so  painfully  collected,  and  which  are  to  my  old  age  next  only  to 
my  Bible,  whether  in  all  the  fights  which  we  have  endured  with  the 
Spaniards,  their  loss,  even  in  victory,  hath  not  far  exceeded  ours.  For  we 
are  both  bigger  of  body  and  fiercer  of  spirit,  being  even  to  the  poorest  of 
us  (thanks  to  the  care  of  our  illustrious  princes),  the  best  fed  men  of 
Europe,  the  most  trained  to  feats  of  strength  and  use  of  weapons,  and  put 
our  trust  also  not  in  any  Virgin  or  saints,  dead  rags  and  bones,  painted 
idols  which  have  no  breath  in  their  mouths,  or  St.  Bartholomew  medals 
and  such  devil’s  remembrancers  : but  in  the  only  true  God  and  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  in  whom  whosoever  trusteth,  one  of  them  shall  chase  a thou- 
sand. So  I hold,  having  had  good  experience  ; and  say,  if  they  have  done 
it  once,  let  them  do  it  again,  and  kill  their  eleven  to  our  two,  with  any 
weapon  they  will,  save  paper  bullets  blown  out  of  Fame’s  lying  trumpet. 
Yet  I have  no  quarrel  with  the  poor  Portugal ; for  I doubt  not  but  friend 
Lopez  Vaz  had  looking  over  his  shoulder  as  he  wrote  some  mighty  black 
velvet  Don,  with  a name  as  long  as  that  Don  Bernaldino  Delgadillo  de 
Avellaneda  who  set  forth  lately  his  vainglorious  libel  of  lies  concerning  the 
last  and  fatal  voyage  of  my  dear  friends  Sir  F.  Drake  and  Sir  John  Hawkins, 
who  rest  in  peace,  having  finished  their  labours,  as  would  God  I rested. 
To  whose  shameless  and  unspeakable  lying  my  good  friend  Mr.  Henry 
Sp.vile  of  this  county  did  most  pithily  and  wittily  reply,  stripping  the  ass 
out  of  his  lion’s  skin  ; and  Sir  Thomas  Baskerville,  general  of  the  Meet, 
by  my  advice,  send  him  a cartel  of  defiance,  offering  to  meet  him  with 
choice  of  weapons,  in  any  indifferent  kingdom  of  equal  distance  from  this 
realm  ; which  challenge  he  hath  prudently  put  in  his  pipe,  or  rather  rolled 
it  up  for  one  of  his  Spanish  cigarros,  and  smoked  it,  and  I doubt  not,  found 
it  foul  in  the  mouth.” 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


145 


CHAP.  VII.] 

-with  great  labour  and  little  profit,  hewing  down  trees  with  our 
swords,  and  burning  them  out  with  fire,  which,  after  much 
labour,  we  kindled  ; but  as  we  were  a-burning  out  of  the  first 
tree,  and  cutting  down  of  another,  a great  party  of  negroes  came 
upon  us,  and  with  much  friendly  show  bade  us  flee  for  our  lives, 
for  the  Spaniards  were  upon  us  in  great  force.  And  so  we  were 
up  and  away  again,  hardly  able  to  drag  our  legs  after  us  for 
hunger  and  weariness,  and  the  broiling  heat.  And  some  were 
taken  (God  help  them  !)  and  some  fled  with  the  negroes,  of 
whom  what  became  God  alone  knoweth  ; but  eight  or  ten  held  on 
with  the  Captain,  among  whom  was  I,  and  fled  downward  toward 
the  sea  for  one  day  ; but  afterwards  finding,  by  the  noise  in  the 
woods,  that  the  Spaniards  w~ere  on  the  track  of  us,  we  turned 
up  again  toward  the  inland,  and  coming  to  a cliff,  climbed  up 
over  it,  drawing  up  the  lady  and  the  little  maid  with  cords  of 
liana  (which  hang  from  those  trees  as  honeysuckle  does  here, 
but  exceeding  stout  and  long,  even  to  fifty  fathoms);  and  so 
breaking  the  track,  hoped  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  enemy. 

“ By  which,  nevertheless,  we  only  increased  our  misery. 
For  two  fell  from  that  cliff,  as  men  asleep  for  very  weariness, 
and  miserably  broke  their  bones ; and  others,  whether  by  the 
great  toil,  or  sunstrokes,  or  eating  of  strange  berries,  fell  sick 
of  fluxes  and  fevers ; wdiere  was  no  drop  of  water,  but  rock  of 
pumice  stone  as  bare  as  the  back  of  my  hand,  and  full,  more- 
over, of  great  cracks,  black  and  without  bottom,  over  which  we 
had  not  strength  to  lift  the  sick,  but  were  fain  to  leave  them 
there  aloft,  in  the  sunshine,  like  Dives  in  his  torments,  crying 
aloud  for  a drop  of  water  to  cool  their  tongues  ; an'd  every  man 
a great  stinking  vulture  or  two  sitting  by  him,  like  an  ugly 
black  fiend  out  of  the  pit,  waiting  till  the  poor  soul  should 
depart  out  of  the  corpse  : but  nothing  could  avail,  and  for  the 
dear  life  we  must  down  again  and  into  the  woods,  or  be  burned 
up  alive  upon  those  rocks. 

“ So  getting  down  the  slope  on  the  farther  side,  we  came 
into  the  woods  once  more,  and  there  wandered  for  many  days, 
I know  not  how  many ; our  shoes  being  gone,  and  our  clothes 
all  rent  off  us  with  brakes  and  briars.  And  yet  how  the  lady 
endured  all  was  a marvel  to  see ; for  she  went  barefoot  many 
days,  and  for  clothes  was  fain  to  wrap  herself  in  Mr.  Oxenham’s 
cloak  ; while  the  little  maid  went  all  but  naked  : but  ever  she 
looked  still  on  Mr.  Oxenham,  and  seemed  to  take  no  care  as 
long  as  lie  was  by,  comforting  and  cheering  us  all  with  pleasant 
words ; yea,  and  once  sitting  down  under  a great  fig  tree,  sang 

L 


146  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [chap.  vii. 

us  all  to  sleep  with  very  sweet  music ; yet,  waking  about  mid- 
night, I saw  her  sitting  still  upright,  weeping  very  bitterly ; 
on  whom,  sirs,  God  have  mercy ; for  she  was  a fair  and  a brave 
jewel. 

“ And  so,  to  make  few  words  of  a sad  matter,  at  last  there 
were  none  left  but  Mr.  Oxenham  and  the  lady  and  the  little 
maid,  together  with  me  and  William  Penberthy  of  Marazion, 
my  good  comrade.  And  Mr.  Oxenham  always  led  the  lady,  and 
Penberthy  and  I carried  the  little  maid.  And  for  food  we  had 
fruits,  such  as  we  could  find,  and  water  we  got  from  the  leaves 
of  certain  lilies  which  grew  on  the  bark  of  trees,  which  I found 
by  seeing  the  monkeys  drink  at  them ; and  the  little  maid 
called  them  monkey-cups,  and  asked  for  them  continually,  mak- 
ing me  climb  for  them.  And  so  we  wandered  on,  and  upward 
into  very  high  mountains,  always  fearing  lest  the  Spaniards 
should  track  us  with  dogs,  which  made  the  lady  leap  up  often 
in  her  sleep,  crying  that  the  bloodhounds  were  upon  her.  And 
it  befell  upon  a day,  that  we  came  into  a great  wood  of  ferns 
(which  grew  not  on  the  ground  like  ours,  but  on  stems  as  big 
as  a pinnace’s  mast,  and  the  bark  of  them  was  like  a fine  meshed 
net,  very  strange  to  see),  where  was  very  pleasant  shade,  cool 
and  green  ; and  there,  gentlemen,  we  sat  down  on  a bank  of 
moss,  like  folk  desperate  and  foredone,  and  every  one  looked 
the  other  in  the  face  for  a long  while.  After  which  I took  off 
the  bark  of  those  ferns,  for  I must  needs  be  doing  something 
to  drive  away  thought,  and  began  to  plait  slippers  for  the  little 
maid. 

“ And  as  I was  plaiting,  Mr.  Oxenham  said,  ‘ What  hinders 
us  from  dying  like  men,  every  man  falling  on  his  own  sword  V 
To  which  I answered  that  I dare  not ; for  a wise  woman  had 
prophesied  of  me,  sirs,  that  I should  die  at  sea,  and  yet  neither 
by  water  or  battle,  wherefore  I did  not  think  right  to  meddle 
with  the  Lord’s  purposes.  And  William  Penberthy  said,  ‘That 
he  would  sell  his  life,  and  that  dear,  but  never  give  it  away.’ 
But  the  lady  said,  ‘ Ah,  how  gladly  would  I die  ! but  then  la 
paouvre  garse,’  which  is  in  French  ‘ the  poor  maid,’  meaning 
the  little  one.  Then  Mr.  Oxenham  fell  into  a very  great  weep- 
ing, a weakness  I never  saw  him  in  before  or  since ; and  with 
many  tears  besought  me  never  to  desert  that  little  maid,  what- 
ever might  befall ; which  I promised,  swearing  to  it  like  a 
heathen,  but  would,  if  I had  been  able,  have  kept  it  like  a 
Christian.  But  on  a sudden  there  was  a great  cry  in  the  wood, 
and  coming  through  the  trees  on  all  sides  Spanish  arquebusiers, 


CHAP.  YU. ] OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  147 

a hundred  strong  at  least,  and  negroes  with  them,  who  hade  us 
stand  or  they  would  shoot.  William  Penberthy  leapt  up,  cry- 
ing, ‘Treason!’  and  running  upon  the  nearest  negro  ran  him 
through,  and  then  another,  and  then  falling  on  the  Spaniards, 
fought  manfully  till  he  was  borne  down  with  pikes,  and  so  died. 
But  I,  seeing  nothing  better  to  do,  sate  still  and  finished  my 
plaiting.  And  so  we  were  all  taken,  and  I and  Mr.  Oxenham 
bound  with  cords ; but  the  soldiers  made  a litter  for  the  lady 
and  child,  by  commandment  of  Senor  Diego  de  Trees,  their 
commander,  a very  courteous  gentleman. 

“Well,  sirs,  we  were  brought  down  to  the  place  where  the 
house  of  boughs  had  been  by  the  river-side;  there  we  went 
over  in  boats,  and  found  waiting  for  us  certain  Spanish  gentle- 
men, and  among  others  one  old  and  ill-favoured  man,  grey- 
bearded  and  bent,  in  a suit  of  black  velvet,  who  seemed  to  be 
a great  man  among  them.  And  if  you  will  believe  me,  Mr. 
Leigh,  that  was  none  other  than  the  old  man  with  the  gold 
falcon  at  his  breast,  Don  Francisco  Xararte  by  name,  whom 
you  found  aboard  of  the  Lima  ship.  And  had  you  known  as 
much  of  him  as  I do,  or  as  Mr.  Oxenham  did  either,  you  had 
cut  him  up  for  shark’s  bait,  or  ever  you  let  the  cur  ashore 
again. 

“Well,  sirs,  as  soon  as  the  lady  came  to  shore,  that  old 
man  ran  upon  her  sword  in  hand,  and  would  have  slain  her, 
but  some  there  held  him  back.  On  which  he  turned  to,  and 
reviled  with  every  foul  and  spiteful  word  which  he  could  think 
of,  so  that  some  there  bade  him  be  silent  for  shame ; and  Mr. 
Oxenham  said,  ‘ It  is  worthy  of  you,  Don  Francisco,  thus  to 
trumpet  abroad  your  own  disgrace.  Did  I not  tell  you  years 
ago  that  you  were  a cur ; and  are  you  not  proving  my  words 
for  me  V 

“ He  answered, 1 English  dog,  would  to  Heaven  I had  never 
seen  you  !’ 

“And  Mr.  Oxenham,  ‘Spanish  ape,  would  to  Heaven  that  I 
had  sent  my  dagger  through  your  herring-ribs  when  you  passed 
me  behind  St.  Ildegonde’s  church,  eight  years  last  Easter-eve.’ 
At  which  the  old  man  turned  pale,  and  then  began  again  to 
upbraid  the  lady,  vowing  that  he  would  have  her  burnt  alive, 
and  other  devilish  words,  to  which  she  answered  at  last — 

“‘Would  that  you  had  burnt  me  alive  on  my  wedding 
morning,  and  spared  me  eight  years  of  misery  ! ’ And  he — 

“‘Misery?  Hear  the  witch,  Senors ! Oh,  have  I not 
pampered  her,  heaped  with  jewels,  clothes,  coaches,  what  not  '/ 


148  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [chap.  vii. 

The  saints  alone  know  what  I have  spent  on  her.  What  more 
would  she  have  of  me  ?’ 

“ To  which  she  answered  only  but  this  one  word,  ‘ Fool !’ 
but  in  so  terrible  a voice,  though  low,  that  they  who  were  about 
to  laugh  at  the  old  pantaloon,  were  more  minded  to  weep  for 
her. 

“ ‘ Fool !’  she  said  again,  after  a while,  ‘ I will  waste  no 
words  upon  you.  I would  have  driven  a dagger  to  your  heart 
months  ago,  but  that  I was  loth  to  set  you  free  so  soon  from 
your  gout  and  your  rheumatism.  Selfish  and  stupid,  know 
when  you  bought  my  body  from  my  parents,  you  did  not  buy 
my  soul ! Farewell,  my  love,  my  life ! and  farewell,  Senors  ! 
May  you  be  more  merciful  to  your  daughters  than  my  parents 
were  to  me  ! ’ And  so,  catching  a dagger  from  the  girdle  of  one 
of  the  soldiers,  smote  herself  to  the  heart,  and  fell  dead  before 
them  all. 

“ At  which  Mr.  Oxenham  smiled,  and  said,  1 That  was 
worthy  of  us  both.  If  you  will  unbind  my  hands,  Senors,  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  copy  so  fair  a schoolmistress.’ 

“ But  Don  Diego  shook  his  head,  and  said, 

“‘It  were  well  for  you,  valiant  Seiior,  were  I at  liberty  to 
do  so ; but  on  questioning  those  of  your  sailors,  whom  I have 
already  taken,  I cannot  hear  that  you  have  any  letters  of  licence, 
either  from  the  Queen  of  England,  or  any  other  potentate.  I 
am  compelled,  therefore,  to  ask  you,  whether  this  is  so ; for  it 
is  a matter  of  life  and  death.’ 

“ To  which  Mr.  Oxenham  answered  merrily,  ‘ That  so  it 
was : but  that  he  was  not  aware  that  any  potentate’s  licence 
was  required  to  permit  a gentleman’s  meeting  his  lady  love ; 
and  that  as  for  the  gold  which  they  had  taken,  if  they  had 
never  allowed  that  fresh  and  fair  young  May  to  be  forced  into 
marrying  that  old  January,  he  should  never  have  meddled  with 
their  gold ; so  that  was  rather  their  fault  than  his.’  And 
added,  that  if  he  was  to  be  hanged,  as  he  supposed,  the  only 
fkvour  which  he  asked  for  was  a long  drop  and  no  priests. 
And  all  the  while,  gentlemen,  he  still  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
lady’s  corpse,  till  he  was  led  away  with  me,  while  all  that  stood 
by,  God  reward  them  for  it,  lamented  openly  the  tragical  end 
of  those  two  sinful  lovers. 

“And  now,  sirs,  what  befell  me  after  that  matters  little; 
for  I never  saw  Captain  Oxenham  again,  nor  ever  shall  in  this 
life.” 


“He  was  hanged,  then? 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


149 


CHAP.  VII.] 


“ So  I heard  for  certain  the  next  year,  and  with  him  the 
gunner  and  sundry  more  : but  some  were  given  away  for  slaves 
to  the  Spaniards,  and  may  be  alive  now,  unless,  like  me,  they 
have  fallen  into  the  cruel  clutches  of  the  Inquisition.  For  the 
Inquisition  now,  gentlemen,  claims  the  bodies  and  souls  of  all 
heretics  all  over  the  world  (as  the  devils  told  me  with  their 
own  lips,  when  I pleaded  that  I was  no  Spanish  subject) ; and 
none  that  it  catches,  whether  peaceable  merchants,  or  ship- 
wrecked mariners,  but  must  turn  or  burn.” 

“ But  how  did  you  get  into  the  Inquisition  ?” 

“ Why,  sir,  after  wre  were  taken,  we  set  forth  to  go  dowm 
the  river  again ; and  the  old  Don  took  the  little  maid  with  him 
in  one  boat  (and  bitterly  she  screeched  at  parting  from  us,  and 
from  the  poor  dead  corpse),  and  Mr.  Oxenlmm  with  Don  Diego 
de  Trees  in  another,  and  I in  a third.  And  from  the  Spaniards 
I learnt  that  we  were  to  be  taken  down  to  Lima,  to  the  Viceroy; 
but  that  the  old  man  lived  hard  by  Panama,  and  wras  going 
straight  back  to  Panama  forthwith  with  the  little  maid.  But 
they  said,  ‘ It  will  be  well  for  her  if  she  ever  gets  there,  for 
the  old  man  swears  she  is  none  of  his,  and  would  have  left  her 
behind  him  in  the  woods,  now,  if  Don  Diego  had  not  shamed 
him  out  of  it.7  And  when  I heard  that,  seeing  that  there  was 
nothing  but  death  before  me,  I made  up  my  mind  to  escape ; 
and  the  very  first  night,  sirs,  by  God’s  help,  I did  it,  and  went 
southward  away  into  the  forest,  avoiding  the  tracks  of  the 
Cimaroons,  till  I came  to  an  Indian  town.  And  there,  gentle- 
men, I got  more  mercy  from  heathens  than  ever  I had  from 
Christians ; for  when  they  found  that  I was  no  Spaniard,  they 
fed  me  and  gave  me  a house,  and  a wife  (and  a good  wife  she 
was  to  me),  and  painted  me  all  over  in  patterns,  as  you  see ; 
and  because  I had  some  knowledge  of  surgery  and  blood-letting, 
and  my  fleams  in  my  pocket,  which  were  worth  to  me  a fortune, 
I rose  to  great  honour  among  them,  though  they  taught  me 
more  of  simples  than  ever  I taught  them  of  surgery.  So  I 
lived  with  them  merrily  enough,  being  a very  heathen  like 
them,  or  indeed  worse,  for  they  worshipped  their  Xemes,  but 
I nothing.  And  in  time  my  wife  bare  me  a child ; in  looking 
at  whose  sweet  face,  gentlemen,  I forgot  Mr.  Oxenham  and  his 
little  maid,  and  my  oath,  ay,  and  my  native  land  also.  Where 
fore  it  was  taken  from  me,  else  had  I lived  and  died  as  the 
beasts  which  perish  ; for  one  night,  after  we  were  all  lain  down, 
came  a noise  outside  the  town,  and  I starting  up  saw  armed 
men  and  calivers  shining  in  the  moonlight,  and  heard  one  read 


150 


TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY 


[chap.  vi*. 


in  Spanish,  with  a loud  voice,  some  fool’s  sermon,  after  their 
custom  when  they  hunt  the  poor. Indians,  how  God  had  given 
to  St.  Peter  the  dominion  of  the  whole  earth,  and  St.  Peter 
again  the  Indies  to  the  Catholic  king ; wherefore,  if  they  would 
all  be  baptized  and  serve  the  Spaniard,  they  should  have  some 
monkey’s  allowance  or  other  of  more  kicks  than  pence ; and  if 
not,  then  have  at  them  with  fire  and  sword ; but  I dare  say 
your  worships  know  that  devilish  trick  of  theirs  better  than  I.” 

“ I know  it,  man.  Go  on.” 

“ Well — no  sooner  were  the  words  spoken  than,  without 
waiting  to  hear  what  the  poor  innocents  within  would  answer 
(though  that  mattered  little,  for  they  understood  not  one  word 
of  it),  what  do  the  villains  but  let  fly  right  into  the  town  with 
their  calivers,  and  then  rush  in,  sword  in  hand,  killing  pell-mell 
all  they  met,  one  of  which  shots,  gentlemen,  passing  through  the 
doorway,  and  close  by  me,  struck  my  poor  wife  to  the  heart, 
that  she  never  spoke  word  more.  I,  catching  up  the  babe  from 
her  breast,  tried  to  run  : but  when  I saw  the  town  full  of  them, 
and  their  dogs  with  them  in  leashes,  which  was  yet  worse,  I 
knew  all  was  lost,  and  sat  down  again  by  the  corpse  with  the 
babe  on  my  knees,  waiting  the  end,  like  one  stunned  and  in  a 
dream ; for  now  I thought  God  from  whom  I had  fled  had  surely 
found  me  out,  as  He  did  Jonah,  and  the  punishment  of  all  my 
sins  was  come.  Well,  gentlemen,  they  dragged  me  out,  and  all 
the  young  men  and  women,  and  chained  us  together  by  the 
neck ; and  one,  catching  the  pretty  babe  out  of  my  arms,  calls 
for  water  and  a priest  (for  they  had  their  shavelings  with  them), 
and  no  sooner  was  it  christened  than,  catching  the  babe  by  the 
heels,  he  dashed  out  its  brains, — oh  ! gentlemen,  gentlemen  ! — 
against  the  ground,  as  if  it  had  been  a kitten  ; and  so  did  they 
to  several  more  innocents  that  night,  after  they  had  christened 
them ; saying  it  was  best  for  them  to  go  to  heaven  while  they 
were  still  sure  thereof ; and  so  marched  us  all  for  slaves,  leaving 
the  old  folk  and  the  wounded  to  die  at  leisure.  But  when  morn- 
ing came,  and  they  knew  by  my  skin  that  I was  no  Indian,  and 
by  my  speech  that  I was  no  Spaniard,  they  began  threatening 
me  with  torments,  till  I confessed  that  I was  an  Englishman, 
and  one  of  Oxenham’s  crew.  At  that  says  the  leader,  ‘ Then 
you  shall  to  Lima,  to  hang  by  the  side  of  your  Captain  the 
pirate ; by  which  I first  knew  that  my  poor  Captain  was  cer- 
tainly gone ; but  alas  for  me  ! the  priest  steps  in  and  claims  me 
for  his  booty,  calling  me  Lutheran,  heretic,  and  enemy  of  God ; 
and  so,  to  make  short  a sad  story,  to  the  Inquisition  at  Cartha- 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  151 

gena  I went,  where  what  I suffered,  gentlemen,  were  as  disgust- 
ful for  you  to  hear,  as  unmanly  for  me  to  complain  of ; but  so 
it  was,  that  being  twice  racked,  and  having  endured  the  water- 
torment  as  best  I could,  I was  put  to  the  scarpines,  whereof  I 
am,  as  you  see,  somewhat  lame  of  one  leg  to  this  day.  At  which 
I could  abide  no  more,  and  so,  wretch  that  I am ! denied  my  God, 
in  hope  to  save  my  life ; which  indeed  I did,  but  little  it  profited 
me ; for  though  I had  turned  to  their  superstition,  I must  have 
two  hundred  stripes  in  the  public  place,  and  then  go  to  the 
galleys  for  seven  years.  And  there,  gentlemen,  ofttiines  I 
thought  that  it  had  been  better  for  me  to  have  been  burned  at 
once  and  for  all : but  you  know  as  well  as  I what  a floating  hell 
of  heat  and  cold,  hunger  and  thirst,  stripes  and  toil,  is  every 
one  of  those  accursed  craft.  In  which  hell,  nevertheless,  gentle- 
men, I found  the  road  to  heaven, — I had  almost  said  heaven 
itself.  For  it  fell  out,  by  God’s  mercy,  that  my  next  comrade 
was  an  Englishman  like  myself,  a young  man  of  Bristol,  who, 
as  he  told  me,  had  been  some  manner  of  factor  on  board  poor 
Captain  Barker’s  ship,  and  had  been  a preacher  among  the  Ana- 
baptists here  in  England.  And,  oh  ! Sir  Richard  Grenvile,  if 
that  man  had  done  for  you  what  he  did  for  me,  you  would  never 
say  a word  against  those  wTho  serve  the  same  Lord,  because  they 
don’t  altogether  hold  with  you.  For  from  time  to  time,  sir, 
seeing  me  altogether  despairing  and  furious,  like  a wild  beast  in 
a pit,  he  set  before  me  in  secret  earnestly  the  sweet  promises  of 
God  in  Christ, — who  says,  ‘ Come  to  me,  all  ye  that  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I will  refresh  you ; and  though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet, 
they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow,’ — till  all  that  past  sinful  life  of 
mine  looked  like  a dream  when  one  awaketh,  and  I forgot  all 
my  bodily  miseries  in  the  misery  of  my  soul,  so  did  I loathe  and 
hate  myself  for  my  rebellion  against  that  loving  God  who  had 
chosen  me  before  the  foundation  of  the  world,  and  come  to  seek 
and  save  me  when  I was  lost;  and  falling  into  very  despair  at  the 
burden  of  my  heinous  sins,  knew  no  peace  until  I gained  sweet 
assurance  that  my  Lord  had  hanged  my  burden  upon  His  cross, 
and  washed  my  sinful  soul  in  His  most  sinless  blood,  Amen  ! ” 

And  Sir  Richard  Grenvile  said  Amen  also. 

“ But,  geutlemen,  if  that  sweet  youth  won  a soul  to  Christ, 
he  paid  as  dearly  for  it  as  ever  did  saint  of  God.  For  after  a 
three  or  four  months,  when  I had  been  all  that  while  in  sweet 
converse  with  him,  and  I may  say  in  heaven  in  the  midst  of 
hell,  there  came  one  night  to  the  barranco  at  Lima,  where  we 
were  kept  when  on  shore,  three  black  devils  of  the  Holy  Office, 


152  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [chap.  VII. 

and  carried  him  off  without  a word,  only  saying  to  me,  ‘ Look 
that  your  turn  come  not  next,  for  we  hear  that  you  have  had 
much  talk  with  the  villain.’  And  at  these  words  I was  so  struck 
cold  with  terror  that  I swooned  right  away,  and  verily,  if  they 
had  taken  me  there  and  then,  I should  have  denied  my  God 
again,  for  my  faith  was  but  young  and  weak  : but  instead,  they 
left  me  aboard  the  galley  for  a few  months  more  (that  was  a 
whole  voyage  to  Panama  and  back),  in  daily  dread  lest  I should 
find  myself  in  their  cruel  claws  again — and  then  nothing  for  me, 
but  to  burn  as  a relapsed  heretic.  But  when  we  came  back  to 
Lima,  the  officers  came  on  board  again,  and  said  to  me,  ‘ That 
heretic  has  confessed  nought  against  you,  so  we  will  leave  you 
for  this  time  : but  because  you  have  been  seen  talking  with  him 
so  much,  and  the  Holy  Office  suspects  your  conversion  to  be  but 
a rotten  one,  you  are  adjudged  to  the  galleys  for  the  rest  of  your 
life  in  perpetual  servitude.’” 

“ But  what  became  of  himl”  asked  Amyas. 

“ He  was  burned,  sir,  a day  or  two  before  we  got  to  Lima, 
and  five  others  with  him  at  the  same  stake,  of  whom  two  were 
Englishmen  ; old  comrades  of  mine,  as  I guess.” 

“Ah  !”  said  Amyas,  “we  heard  of  that  when  we  were  off 
Lima ; and  they  said,  too,  that  there  were  six  more  lying  still 
in  prison,  to  be  burnt  in  a few  days.  If  we  had  had  our  fleet 
with  us  (as  we  should  have  had  if  it  had  not  been  for  John 
Winter)  we  would  have  gone  in  and  rescued  them  all,  poor 
wretches,  and  sacked  the  town  to  boot : but  what  could  we  do 
with  one  ship  1” 

“Would  to  God  you  had,  sir;  for  the  story  was  true  enough; 
and  among  them,  I heard,  were  two  young  ladies  of  quality  and 
their  confessor,  who  came  to  their  ends  for  reproving  out  of 
Scripture  the  filthy  and  loathsome  living  of  those  parts,  which, 
as  I saw  well  enough  and  too  well,  is  liker  to  Sodom  than  to  a 
Christian  town  ; but  God  will  avenge  His  saints,  and  their  sins. 
Amen.” 

“Amen,”  said  Sir  Richard  : “ but  on  with  thy  tale,  for  it 
is  as  strange  as  ever  man  heard.” 

“ Well,  gentlemen,  when  I heard  that  I must  end  my  days 
in  that  galley,  I was  for  awhile  like  a madman  : but  in  a day 
or  two  there  came  over  me,  I know  not  how,  a full  assurance 
of  salvation,  both  for  this  life  and  the  life  to  come,  such  as  I 
had  never  had  before ; and  it  was  revealed  to  me  (I  speak  the 
truth,  gentlemen,  before  Heaven)  that  now  I had  been  tried  to 
the  uttermost,  and  that  my  deliverance  was  at  hand. 


CHAP.  VII.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  153 

“ And  all  the  way  up  to  Panama  (that  was  after  we  had 
laden  the  1 Cacafuogo  ’)  I cast  in  my  mind  how  to  escape,  and 
found  no  way  : but  just  as  I was  beginning  to  lose  heart  again, 
a door  was  opened  by  the  Lord’s  own  hand ; for  (I  know  not 
why)  we  were  marched  across  from  Panama  to  Nombre,  which 
had  never  happened  before,  and  there  put  all  together  into  a 
great  barranco  close  by  the  quay-side,  shackled,  as  is  the  fashion, 
to  one  long  bar  that  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  house.  And 
the  very  first  night  that  we  were  there,  I,  looking  out  of  the 
window,  spied,  lying  close  aboard  of  the  quay,  a good-sized 
caravel  well  armed  and  just  loading  for  sea;  and  the  land  breeze 
blew  off  very  strong,  so  that  the  sailors  were  laying  out  a frah 
warp  to  hold  her  to  the  shore.  And  it  came  into  my  mind, 
that  if  we  were  aboard  of  her,  we  should  be  at  sea  in  five 
minutes ; and  looking  at  the  quay,  I saw  all  the  soldiers  who 
had  guarded  us  scattered  about  drinking  and  gambling,  and 
some  going  into  taverns  to  refresh  themselves  after  their  journey. 
That  was  just  at  sundown ; and  half  an  hour  after,  in  comes 
the  gaoler  to  take  a last  look  at  us  for  the  night,  and  his  keys 
at  his  girdle.  Whereon,  sirs  (whether  by  madness,  or  whether 
by  the  spirit  which  gave  Samson  strength  to  rend  the  lion),  I 
rose  against  him  as  he  passed  me,  without  forethought  or 
treachery  of  any  kind,  chained  though  I was,  caught  him  by 
the  head,  and  threw  him  there  and  then  against  the  wall,  that 
he  never  spoke  word  after;  and  then  with  his  keys  freed  myself 
and  every  soul  in  that  room,  and  bid  them  follow  me,  vowing 
to  kill  any  man  who  disobeyed  my  commands.  They  followed, 
as  men  astounded  and  leaping  out  of  night  into  day,  and  death 
into  life,  and  so  aboard  that  caravel  and  out  of  the  harbour  (the 
Lord  only  knows  how,  who  blinded  the  eyes  of  the  idolaters), 
with  no  more  hurt  than  a few  chance-shot  from  the  soldiers  on 
the  quay.  But  my  tale  has  been  over -long  already,  gentle- 
men  ” 

“Go  on  till  midnight,  my  good  fellow,  if  you  will.” 

“Well,  sirs,  they  chose  me  for  captain,  and  a certain  Genoese 
for  lieutenant,  and  away  to  go.  I would  fain  have  gone  ashore 
after  all,  and  back  to  Panama  to  hear  news  of  the  little  maid  : 
but  that  would  have  been  but  a fool’s  errand.  Some  wanted 
to  turn  pirates : but  I,  and  the  Genoese  too,  who  was  a prudent 
man,  though  an  evil  one,  persuaded  them  to  run  for  England 
and  get  employment  in  the  Netherland  wars,  assuring  them  that 
there  would  be  no  safety  in  the  Spanish  Main,  when  once  our 
escape  got  wind.  And  the  more  part  being  of  one  mind,  for 


154  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [chap.  VII. 

England  we  sailed,  watering  at  the  Barbadoes  because  it  was 
desolate ; and  so  eastward  toward  the  Canaries.  In  which 
voyage  what  we  endured  (being  taken  by  long  calms),  by  scurvy, 
calentures,  hunger,  and  thirst,  no  tongue  can  tell.  Many  a 
time  were  we  glad  to  lay  out  sheets  at  night  to  catch  the 
dew,  and  suck  them  in  the  morning ; and  he  that  had  a noggin 
of  rain-water  out  of  the  scuppers  was  as  much  sought  to  as  if 
he  had  been  Adelantado  of  all  the  Indies  ; till  of  a hundred  and 
forty  poor  wretches  a hundred  and  ten  were  dead,  blaspheming 
God  and  man,  and  above  all  me  and  the  Genoese,  for  taking  the 
Europe  voyage,  as  if  I had  not  sins  enough  of  my  own  already. 
And  last  of  all,  when  we  thought  ourselves  safe,  we  were 
wrecked  by  south-westers  on  the  coast  of  Brittany,  near  to  Cape 
Race,  from  which  but  nine  souls  of  us  came  ashore  with  their 
lives ; and  so  to  Brest,  where  I found  a Flushinger  who  carried 
me  to  Falmouth ; and  so  ends  my  tale,  in  which  if  I have 
said  one  word  more  or  less  than  truth,  I can  wish  myself  no 
worse,  than  to  have  it  all  to  undergo  a second  time.” 

And  his  voice,  as  he  finished,  sank  from  very  weariness  of 
soul ; while  Sir  Richard  sat  opposite  him  in  silence,  his  elbows 
on  the  table,  his  cheeks  on  his  doubled  fists,  looking  him 
through  and  through  with  kindling  eyes.  No  one  spoke  for 
several  minutes ; and  then — 

“ Arayas,  you  have  heard  this  story.  You  believe  it  ?” 

“ Every  word,  sir,  or  I should  not  have  the  heart  of  a 
Christian  man.” 

“ So  do  I.  Anthony  !” 

The  butler  entered. 

“ Take  this  man  to  the  buttery ; clothe  him  comfortably, 
and  feed  him  with  the  best ; and  bid  the  knaves  treat  him  as 
if  he  were  their  own  father.” 

But  Yeo  lingered. 

“If  I might  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  your  worship  a favour1? ” 

“ Anything  in  reason,  my  brave  fellow.” 

“ If  your  worship  could  put  me  in  the  way  of  another  adven- 
ture to  the  Indies  V’ 

“ Another  ! Hast  not  had  enough  of  the  Spaniards  already?” 
“ Never  enough,  sir,  while  one  of  the  idolatrous  tyrants  is 
left  unhanged,”  said  he,  with  a right  bitter  smile.  “ But  it’s 
not  for  that  only,  sir  : but  my  little  maid — Oh,  sir  ! my  little 
maid,  that  I swore  to  Mr.  Oxenham  to  look  to,  and  never  saw 
her  from  that  day  to  this  ! I must  find  her,  sir,  or  I shall  go 
mad,  I believe.  Not  a night  but  she  comes  and  calls  to  me  in 


OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM. 


155 


CHAP.  VII.] 


my  dreams,  the  poor  darling ; and  not  a morning  but  when  I 
wake  there  is  my  oath  lying  on  my  soul,  like  a great  black 
cloud,  and  I no  nearer  the  keeping  of  it.  I told  that  poor 
young  minister  of  it  when  we  were  in  the  galleys  together ; and 
he  said  oaths  were  oaths,  and  keep  it  I must ; and  keep  it  I 
will,  sir,  if  you’ll  but  help  me.” 

“ Have  patience,  man.  God  will  take  as  good  care  of  thy 
little  maid  as  ever  thou  wilt.” 

“ I know  it,  sir.  I know  it : but  faith’s  weak,  sir  ! and 
oh ! if  she  were  bred  up  a Papist  and  an  idolater ; wouldn’t 
her  blood  be  on  my  head  then,  sir  1 Sooner  than  that,  sooner 
than  that,  I’d  be  in  the  Inquisition  again  to-morrow,  I would !” 
“My  good  fellow,  there  are  no  adventures  to  the  Indies 
forward  now  : but  if  you  want  to  fight  Spaniards,  here  is  a 
gentleman  will  show  you  the  way.  Amyas,  take  him  with  you 
to  Ireland.  If  he  has  learnt  half  the  lessons  God  has  set  him 
to  learn,  he  ought  to  stand  you  in  good  stead.” 

Yeo  looked  eagerly  at  the  young  giant. 

“ Will  you  have  me,  sir  ? There’s  few  matters  I can’t  turn 
my  hand  to : and  maybe  you’ll  be  going  to  the  Indies  again, 
some  day,  eh  ? and  take  me  with  you  ? I’d  serve  your  turn  well, 
though  I say  it,  either  for  gunner  or  for  pilot.  I know  every 
stone  and  tree  from  Nombre  to  Panama,  and  all  the  ports  of 
both  the  seas.  You’ll  never  be  content,  I’ll  warrant,  till  you’ve 
had  another  turn  along  the  gold  coasts,  will  you  now1?” 

Amyas  laughed,  and  nodded  ; and  the  bargain  was  concluded. 
So  out  went  Yeo  to  eat,  and  Amyas  having  received  his 
despatches,  got  ready  for  his  journey  home. 

“ Go  the  short  way  over  the  moors,  lad ; and  send  back 
Cary’s  grey  when  you  can.  You  must  not  lose  an  hour,  but  be 
ready  to  sail  the  moment  the  wind  goes  about.” 

So  they  started  : but  as  Amyas  was  getting  into  the  saddle, 
he  saw  that  there  was  some  stir  among  the  servants,  who  seemed 
to  keep  carefully  out  of  Yeo’s  way,  whispering  and  nodding 
mysteriously ; and  just  as  his  foot  was  in  the  stirrup,  Anthony, 
the  old  butler,  plucked  him  back. 

“Dear  father  alive,  Mr.  Amyas!”  whispered  he:  “and 
you  ben’t  going  by  the  moor  road  all  alone  with  that  chap1?” 
“Why  not,  then1?  I’m  too  big  for  him  to  eat,  I reckon.” 

“ Oh,  Mr.  Amyas  ! he’s  not  right,  I tell  you ; not  company 
for  a Christian — to  go  forth  with  creatures  as  has  flames  of  fire 
in  their  inwards ; ’tis  temptation  of  Providence,  indeed,  then, 
it  is.” 


156  TRUE  AND  TRAGICAL  HISTORY  [CHAP.  VII. 

“ Tale  of  a tub.” 

“ Tale  of  a Christian,  sir.  There  was  two  boys  pig-minding, 
seed  him  at  it  down  the  hill,  beside  a maiden  that  was  taken 
mazed  (and  no  wonder,  poor  soul !)  and  lying  in  screeching 
asterisks  now  down  to  the  mill — you  ask  as  you  go  by — and 
saw  the  flames  come  out  of  the  mouth  of  mun,  and  the  smoke 
out  of  mun’s  nose  like  a vire-drake,  and  the  roaring  of  mun  like 
the  roaring  of  ten  thousand  bulls.  Oh,  sir  ! and  to  go  with  he 
after  dark  over  moor ! ’Tis  the  devil’s  devices,  sir,  against 
you,  because  you’m  going  against  his  sarvants  the  Pope  of  Room 
and  the  Spaniard ; and  you’ll  be  Pixy-led,  sure  as  life,  and 
locked  into  a bog,  you  will,  and  see  mun  vanish  away  to  fire 
and  brimstone,  like  a jack-o’-lantern.  Oh,  have  a care,  then, 
have  a care  !” 

And  the  old  man  wrung  his  hands,  while  Amyas,  bursting 
with  laughter,  rode  off  down  the  park,  with  the  unconscious 
Yeo  at  his  stirrup,  chatting  away  about  the  Indies,  and  delight- 
ing Amyas  more  and  more  by  his  shrewdness,  high  spirit,  and 
rough  eloquence. 

They  had  gone  ten  miles  or  more  ; the  day  began  to  draw 
in,  and  the  western  wind  to  sweep  more  cold  and  cheerless 
every  moment,  when'  Amyas,  knowing  that  there  was  not  an 
inn  hard  by  around  for  many  a mile  ahead,  took  a pull  at  a 
certain  bottle  which  Lady  Grenvile  had  put  into  his  holster, 
and  then  offered  Yeo  a pull  also. 

He  declined ; he  had  meat  and  drink  too  about  him,  Heaven 
be  praised  ! 

“ Meat  and  drink  1 Fall  to,  then,  man,  and  don’t  stand  on 
manners.” 

Whereon  Yeo,  seeing  an  old  decayed  willow  by  a brook, 
went  to  it,  and  took  therefrom  some  touchwood,  to  which  he 
set  a light  with  his  knife  and  a stone,  while  Amyas  watched, 
a little  puzzled  and  startled,  as  Yeo’s  fiery  reputation  came 
into  his  mind.  Was  he  really  a Salamander-Sprite,  and  going 
to  warm  his  inside  by  a meal  of  burning  tinder  1 But  nowr  Yeo, 
in  his  solemn  methodical  way,  pulled  out  of  his  bosoni  a brown 
leaf,  and  began  rolling  a piece  of  it  up  neatly  to  the  size  of  his 
little  finger ; and  then,  putting  the  one  end  into  his  mouth  and 
the  other  on  the  tinder,  sucked  at  it  till  it  was  a-light ; and 
drinking  down  the  smoke,  began  puffing  it  out  again  at  his 
nostrils  with  a grunt  of  deepest  satisfaction,  and  resumed  his 
dog-trot  by  Amyas’s  side,  as  if  he  had  been  a walking  chimney. 

On  which  Amyas  burst  into  a loud  laugh,  and  cried — 


CHAP,  vii.]  OF  MR.  JOHN  OXENHAM.  157 

“ Why,  no  wonder  they  said  you  breathed  fire  1 Is  not  that 
the  Indians’  tobacco  ?” 

“Yea,  verily,  Heaven  be  praised  ! but  did  you  never  see  it 
before  V’ 

“ Never,  though  we  heard  talk  of  it  along  the  coast ; but  we 
took  it  for  one  more  Spanish  lie.  Humph — well,  live  and  learn ! ” 

“ Ah,  sir,  no  lie,  but  a blessed  truth,  as  I can  tell,  who  have 
ere  now  gone  in  the  strength  of  this  weed  three  days  and  nights 
without  eating ; and  therefore,  sir,  the  Indians  always  carry  it 
with  them  on  their  war-parties  : and  no  wonder  ; for  when  all 
things  were  made  none  was  made  better  than  this  ; to  be  a lone 
man’s  companion,  a bachelor’s  friend,  a hungry  man’s  food,  a sad 
man’s  cordial,  a wakeful  man’s  sleep,  and  a chilly  man’s  fire,  sir ; 
while  for  stanching  of  wounds,  purging  of  rheum,  and  settling 
of  the  stomach,  there’s  no  herb  like  unto  it  under  the  canopy  of 
heaven.” 

The  truth  of  which  eulogium  Amyas  tested  in  after  years, 
as  shall  be  fully  set  forth  in  due  place  and  time.  But  “ Mark 
in  the  meanwhile,”  says  one  of  the  veracious  chroniclers  from 
whom  I draw  these  facts,  writing  seemingly  in  the  palmy  days 
of  good  Queen  Anne,  and  “ not  having  ” (as  he  says)  “ before 
his  eyes  the  fear  of  that  misocapnic  Solomon  J ames  I.  or  of  any 
other  lying  Stuart,”  “ that  not  to  South  Devon,  but  to  North  ; 
not  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  but  to  Sir  Amyas  Leigh ; not  to  the 
banks  of  Dart,  but  to  the  banks  of  Torridge,  does  Europe  owe 
the  day-spring  of  the  latter  age,  that  age  of  smoke  which  shall 
endure  and  thrive,  when  the  age  of  brass  shall  have  vanished 
like  those  of  iron  and  of  gold ; for  whereas  Mr.  Lane  is  said  to 
have  brought  home  that  divine  weed  (as  Spenser  well  names  it) 
from  Virginia,  in  the  year  1584,  it  is  hereby  indisputable  that 
full  four  years  earlier,  by  the  bridge  of  Putford  in  the  Torridge 
moors  (which  all  true  smokers  shall  hereafter  visit  as  a hallowed 
spot  and  point  of  pilgrimage)  first  twinkled  that  fiery  beacon 
and  beneficent  lodestar  of  Bidefordian  commerce,  to  spread  here- 
after from  port  to  port  and  peak  to  peak,  like  the  watch-fires 
which  proclaimed  the  coming  of  the  Armada  or  the  fall  of  Troy, 
even  to  the  shores  of  the  Bo-  phorus,  the  peaks  of  the  Caucasus, 
and  the  farthest  isles  of  the  Malayan  sea;  while  Bideford, 
metropolis  of  tobacco,  saw  her  Pool  choked  with  Virginian 
traders,  and  the  pavement  of  her  Bridgeland  Street  groaning 
beneath  the  savoury  bales  of  roll  Trinadado,  leaf,  and  pudding; 
and  her  grave  burghers,  bolstered  and  blocked  out  of  their  own 
houses  by  the  scarce  less  savoury  stock-fish  casks  which  filled 


158  HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [CHAP.  VIII. 

cellar,  parlour,  and  attic,  were  fain  to  sit  outside  the  door,  a 
silver  pipe  in  every  strong  right  hand,  and  each  left  hand  chink- 
ing cheerfully  the  doubloons  deep  lodged  in  the  auriferous 
caverns  of  their  trunkhose  ; while  in  those  fairy-rings  of  fragrant 
mist,  which  circled  round  their  contemplative  brows,  flitted  most 
pleasant  visions  of  Wiltshire  farmers  jogging  into  Sherborne 
fair,  their  heaviest  shillings  in  their  pockets,  to  buy  (unless  old 
Aubrey  lies)  the  lotus-leaf  of  Torridge  for  its  weight  in  silver, 
and  draw  from  thence,  after  the  example  of  the  Caciques  of 
Dariena,  supplies  of  inspiration  much  needed,  then  as  now,  in 
those  Gothamite  regions.  And  yet  did  these  improve,  as  English- 
men, upon  the  method  of  those  heathen  savages ; for  the  latter 
(so  Salvation  Yeo  reported  as  a truth,  and  Dampier’s  surgeon  Mr. 
Wafer  after  him),  when  they  will  deliberate  of  war  or  policy,  sit 
round  in  the  hut  of  the  chief;  where  being  placed,  enter  to  them  a 
small  boy  with  a cigarro  of  the  bigness  of  a rolling-pin,  and  puffs 
the  smoke  thereof  into  the  face  of  each  warrior,  from  the  eldest 
to  the  youngest ; while  they,  putting  their  hand  funnel-wise 
round  their  mouths,  draw  into  the  sinuosities  of  the  brain  that 
more  than  Delphic  vapour  of  prophecy ; which  boy  presently 
falls  down  in  a swoon,  and  being  dragged  out  by  the  heels  and 
laid  by  to  sober,  enter  another  to  puff  at  the  sacred  cigarro,' till 
he  is  dragged  out  likewise  ; and  so  on  till  the  tobacco  is  finished, 
and  the  seed  of  wisdom  has  sprouted  in  every  soul  into  the  tree 
of  meditation,  bearing  the  flowers  of  eloquence,  and  in  due  time 
the  fruit  of  valiant  action.”  With  which  quaint  fact  (for  fact 
it  is,  in  spite  of  the  bombast)  I end  the  present  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED. 

“ It  is  virtue,  yea  virtue,  gentlemen,  that  maketh  gentlemen  ; that  maketh 
the  poor  rich,  the  base-born  noble,  the  subject  a sovereign,  the  de- 
formed beautiful,  the  sick  whole,  the  weak  strong,  the  most  miserable 
most  happy.  There  are  two  principal  and  peculiar  gifts  in  the  nature 
of  man,  knowledge  and  reason  ; the  one  eommandeth,  and  the  other 
obeyeth  : these  things  neither  the  whirling  wheel  of  fortune  can 
change,  neither  the  deceitful  cavillings  of  worldlings  separate,  neither 
sickness  abate,  neither  age  abolish.” — Lilly’s  Euphues , 1586. 

It  now  falls  to  my  lot  to  write  of  the  foundation  of  that  most 
chivalrous  brotherhood  of  the  Rose,  which  after  a few  years  made 
itself  not  only  famous  in  its  native  county  of  Devon,  but  for- 


CHAP,  viii.]  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED.  159 

midable,  as  will  be  related  hereafter,  both  in  Ireland  and  in  the 
Netherlands,  in  the  Spanish  Main  and  the  heart  of  South 
America.  And  if  this  chapter  shall  seem  to  any  Quixotic  and 
fantastical,  let  them  recollect  that  the  generation  who  spoke  and 
acted  thus  in  matters  of  love  and  honour  were,  nevertheless, 
practised  and  valiant  soldiers,  and  prudent  and  crafty  politicians ; 
that  he  who  wrote  the  Arcadia  was  at  the  same  time,  in  spite 
of  his  youth,  one  of  the  subtlest  diplomatists  of  Europe ; that 
the  poet  of  the  Faery  Queene  was  also  the  author  of  The  State 
of  Ireland ; and  if  they  shall  quote  against  me  with  a sneer 
Lilly’s  Euphues  itself,  I shall  only  answer  by  asking — Have  they 
ever  read  it  % For  if  they  have  done  so,  I pity  them  if  they  have 
not  found  it,  in  spite  of  occasional  tediousness  and  pedantry,  as 
brave,  righteous,  and  pious  a book  as  man  need  look  into  : and 
wish  for  no  better  proof  of  the  nobleness  and  virtue  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  than  the  fact  that  “ Euphues”  and  the  “Arcadia” 
were  the  two  popular  romances  of  the  day.  It  may  have  suited 
the  purposes  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  his  cleverly  drawn  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton,  to  ridicule  the  Euphuists,  and  that  affectatam 
comitatem  of  the  travelled  English  of  which  Languet  complains; 
but  over  and  above  the  anachronism  of  the  whole  character  (for, 
to  give  but  one  instance,  the  Euphuist  knight  talks  of  Sidney’s 
quarrel  with  Lord  Oxford  at  least  ten  years  before  it  happened), 
we  do  deny  that  Lilly’s  book  could,  if  read  by  any  man  of  common 
sense,  produce  such  a coxcomb,  whose  spiritual  ancestors  would 
rather  have  been  Gabriel  Harvey  and  Lord  Oxford, — if  indeed 
the  former  has  not  maligned  the  latter,  and  ill-tempered  Tom 
Nash  maligned  the  maligner  in  his  kirn. 

But,  indeed,  there  is  a double  anachronism  in  Sir  Piercie ; 
for  he  does  not  even  belong  to  the  days  of  Sidney,  but  to  those 
worse  times  which  began  in  the  latter  years  of  Elizabeth,  and 
after  breaking  her  mighty  heart,  had  full  licence  to  bear  their 
crop  of  fools’  heads  in  the  profligate  days  of  James.  Of  them, 
perhaps,  hereafter.  And  in  the  meanwhile,  let  those  who  have 
not  read  “ Euphues  ” believe  that,  if  they  could  train  a son  after 
the  fashion  of  his  Ephoebus,  to  the  great  saving  of  their  own 
money  and  his  virtue,  all  fathers,  even  in  these  money-making 
days,  would  rise  up  and  call  them  blessed.  Let  us  rather  open 
our  eyes,  and  see  in  these  old  Elizabeth  gallants  our  own  ances- 
tors, showing  forth  with  the  luxuriant  wildness  of  youth  all 
the  virtues  which  still  go  to  the  making  of  a true  Englishman. 
Let  us  not  only  see  in  their  commercial  and  military  daring,  in 
their  political  astuteness,  in  their  deep  reverence  for  law,  and 


1G0  HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [chap.  VIII. 

in  their  solemn  sense  of  the  great  calling  of  the  English  nation, 
the  antitypes  or  rather  the  examples  of  our  own : hut  let  us 
confess  that  their  chivalry  is  only  another  garb  of  that  beautiful 
tenderness  and  mercy  which  is  now,  as  it  was  then,  the  twin 
sister  of  English  valour ; and  even  in  their  extravagant  fond- 
ness for  Continental  manners  and  literature,  let  us  recognise 
that  old  Anglo -Norpian  teachableness  and  wide -heartedness, 
which  has  enabled  us  to  profit  by  the  wisdom  and  civilisation 
of  all  ages  and  of  all  lands,  without  prejudice  to  our  own  dis- 
tinctive national  character. 

And  so  I go  to  my  story,  which,  if  any  one  dislikes,  he  has 
but  to  turn  the  leaf  till  he  finds  pasturage  which  suits  him 
better. 

Amyas  could  not  sail  the  next  day,  or  the  day  after; 
for  the  south-wester  freshened,  and  blew  three  parts  of  a gale 
dead  into  the  bay.  So  having  got  the  Mary  Grenvile  down  the 
river  into  Appledore  pool,  ready  to  start  with  the  first  shift  of 
wind,  he  went  quietly  home;  and  when  his  mother  started  on 
a pillion  behind  the  old  serving-man  to  ride  to  Clovelly,  where 
Frank  lay  wounded,  he  went  in  with  her  as  far  as  Bideford,  and 
there  met,  coming  down  the  High  Street,  a procession  of  horse- 
men headed  by  Will  Cary,  who,  clad  cap-k-pid  in  shining  armour, 
sword  on  thigh,  and  helmet  at  saddle-bow,  looked  as  gallant  a 
young  gentleman  as  ever  Bideford  dames  peeped  at  from  door 
and  window.  Behind  him,  upon  country  ponies,  came  four  or 
five  stout  serving-men,  carrying  his  lances  and  baggage,  and 
their  own  long-bows,  swords,  and  bucklers ; and  behind  all,  in 
a horse-litter,  to  Mrs.  Leigh’s  great  joy,  Master  Frank  himself. 
He  deposed 'that  his  wounds  were  only  flesh-wounds,  the  dagger 
having  turned  against  his  ribs ; that  he  must  see  the  last  of 
his  brother ; and  that  with  her  good  leave  he  would  not  come 
home  to  Burrough,  but  take  up  his  abode  with  Cary  in  the  Ship 
Tavern,  close  to  the  Bridge-foot.  This  he  did  forthwith,  and 
settling  himself  on  a couch,  held  his  levee  there  in  state,  mobbed 
by  all  the  gossips  of  the  town,  not  without  white  fibs  as  to  who 
had  brought  him  into  that  sorry  plight. 

But  in  the  meanwhile,  he  and  Amyas  concocted  a scheme, 
which  was  put  into  effect  the  next  day  (being  market-day) ; 
first  by  the  innkeeper,  who  began  under  Amyas’s  orders  a 
bustle  of  roasting,  boiling,  and  frying,  unparalleled  in  the  annals 
of  the  Ship  Tavern ; and  next  by  Amyas  himself,  who,  going 
out  into  the  market,  invited  as  many  of  his  old  schoolfellows, 
one  by  one  apart,  as  Frank  had  pointed  out  to  him,  to  a merry 


• / ■ . ....  ...  ..  . ...  ,/i  . .; 


On  the  Tor  ridge,  Bide  ford ’ 


CHAP,  viii.]  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED.  161 

supper  and  a “ rowse  ” thereon  consequent ; by  which  crafty 
scheme,  in  came  each  of  Rose  Salterne’s  gentle  admirers,  and 
found  himself,  to  his  considerable  disgust,  seated  at  the  same 
table  with  six  rivals,  to  none  of  whom  had  he  spoken  for  the 
last  six  months.  However,  all  were  too  well  bred  to  let  the 
Leighs  discern  as  much  • and  they  (though,  of  course,  they 
knew  all)  settled  their  guests,  Frank  on  his  couch  lying  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  Amyas  taking  the  bottom  : and  contrived, 
by  filling  all  mouths  writh  good  things,  to  save  them  the  pain 
of  speaking  to  each  other  till  the  wine  should  have  loosened 
their  tongues  and  warmed  their  hearts.  In  the  meanwhile  both 
Amyas  and  Frank,  ignoring  the  silence  of  their  guests  with  the 
most  provoking  good -humour,  chatted,  and  joked,  and  told 
stories,  and  made  themselves  such  good  company,  that  Will 
Cary,  who  always  found  merriment  infectious,  melted  into  a 
jest,  and  then  into  another,  and  finding  good-humour  far  more 
pleasant  than  bad,  tried  to  make  Mr.  Coffin  laugh,  and  only 
made  him  bow,  and  to  make  Mr.  Fortescue  laugh,  and  only 
made  him  frown ; and  unabashed  nevertheless,  began  playing 
his  light  artillery  upon  the  waiters,  till  he  drove  them  out  of 
the  room  bursting  with  laughter. 

So  far  so  good.  And  when  the  cloth  was  drawn,  and  sack 
and  sugar  became  the  order  of  the  day,  and  “ Queen  and  Bible  ” 
had  been  duly  drunk  with  all  the  honours,  Frank  tried  a fresh 
move,  and — 

“ I have  a toast,  gentlemen — here  it  is.  * The  gentlemen 
of  the  Irish  wars ; and  may  Ireland  never  be  without  a St. 
Leger  to  stand  by  a Fortescue,  a Fortescue  to  stand  by  a St. 
Leger,  and  a Chichester  to  stand  by  both.’  ” 

Which  toast  of  course  involved  the  drinking  the  healths  of 
the  three  representatives  of  those  families,  and  their  returning 
thanks,  and  paying  a compliment  each  to  the  other’s  house : 
and  so  the  ice  cracked  a little  further ; and  young  Fortescue 
proposed  the  health  of  “Amyas  Leigh,  and  all  bold  mariners 
to  which  Amyas  replied  by  a few  blunt  kindly  words,  “ that  he 
wished  to  know  no  better  fortune  than  to  sail  round  the  world 
again  with  the  present  company  as  fellow-adventurers,  and  so 
give  the  Spaniards  another  taste  of  the  men  of  Devon.” 

And  by  this  time,  the  wine  going  down  sweetly,  caused  the 
lips  of  them  that  were  asleep  to  speak  ; till  the  ice  broke  up 
altogether,  and  every  man  began  talking  like  a rational  English- 
man to  the  man  who  sat  next  him. 

“And  now,  gentlemen,”  said  Frank,  who  saw  that  it  was 
M 


162 


HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [chap.  vilL 

the  fit  moment  for  the  grand  assault  which  he  had  planned  all 
along  • “ let  me  give  you  a health  which  none  of  you,  I dare 
say,  will  refuse  to  drink  with  heart  and  soul  as  well  as  with 
lips; — the  health  of  one  whom  beauty  and  virtue  have  so  en- 
nobled, that  in  their  light  the  shadow  of  lowly  birth  is  unseen  ; 
— the  health  of  one  whom  I would  proclaim  as  peerless  in  loveli- 
ness, were  it  not  that  every  gentleman  here  has  sisters,  who 
might  well  challenge  from  her  the  girdle  of  Venus : and  yet 
what  else  dare  I say,  while  those  same  lovely  ladies  who,  if 
they  but  use  their  own  mirrors,  must  needs  be  far  better  judges 
of  beauty  than  I can  be,  have  in  my  own  hearing  again  and 
again  assigned  the  palm  to  her  ? Surely,  if  the  goddesses  decide 
among  themselves  the  question  of  the  golden  apple,  Paris  him- 
self must  vacate  the  judgment-seat.  Gentlemen,  your  hearts, 
I doubt  not,  have  already  bid  you,  as  my  unworthy  lips  do  now, 
to  drink  ‘ The  Rose  of  Torridge.’  ” 

If  the  Rose  of  Torridge  herself  had  walked  into  the  room  she 
could  hardly  have  caused  more  blank  astonishment  than  Frank’s 
bold  speech.  Every  guest  turned  red,  and  pale,  and  red  again, 
and  looked  at  the  other  as  much  as  to  say,  “ What  right  had  any 
one  but  I to  drink  her  ? Lift  your  glass,  and  I will  dash  it  out 
of  your  hand;”  but  Frank,  with  sweet  effrontery,  drank  “The 
health  of  the  Rose  of  Torridge,  and  a double  health  to  that 
worthy  gentleman,  whosoever  he  may  be,  whom  she  is  fated  to 
honour  with  her  love  !” 

“Well  done,  cunning  Frank  Leigh  !”  cried  blunt  Will  Cary; 
“ none  of  us  dare  quarrel  with  you  now,  however  much  we  may 
sulk  at  each  other.  For  there’s  none  of  us,  I’ll  warrant,  but 
thinks  that  she  likes  him  the  best  of  all ; and  so  we  are  bound 
to  believe  that  you  have  drunk  our  healths  all  round.” 

u And  so  I have : and  what  better  thing  can  you  do,  gentle- 
men, than  to  drink  each  other’s  healths  all  round  likewise  : and 
so  show  yourselves  true  gentlemen,  true  Christians,  ay,  and 
true  lovers  1 For  what  is  love  (let  me  speak  freely  to  you, 
gentlemen  and  guests),  what  is  love,  but  the  very  inspiration  of 
that  Deity  whose  name  is  Love  ? Be  sure  that  not  without 
reason  did  the  ancients  feign  Eros  to  be  the  eldest  of  the  gods, 
by  whom  the  jarring  elements  of  chaos  were  attuned  into  har- 
mony and  order.  How,  then,  shall  lovers  make  him  the  father 
of  strife  ? Shall  Psyche  wed  with  Cupid,  to  bring  forth  a cock- 
atrice’s egg  ? or  the  soul  be  filled  with  love,  the  likeness  of  the 
immortals,  to  burn  with  envy  and  jealousy,  division  and  distrust? 
True,  the  rose  has  its  thorn  : but  it  leaves  poison  and  stings  to 


163 


CHAP,  viii.]  OF  THE  HOSE  WAS  FOUNDED. 

the  nettle.  Cupid  has  his  arrow  : but  he  hurls  no  scorpions. 
Venus  is  awful  when  despised,  as  the  daughters  of  Proetus 
found : but  her  handmaids  are  the  Graces,  not  the  Furies. 
Surely  he  who  loves  aright  will  not  only  find  love  lovely,  but 
become  himself  lovely  also.  I speak  not  to  reprehend  you, 
gentlemen  ; for  to  you  (as  your  piercing  wits  have  already  per- 
ceived, to  judge  by  your  honourable  blushes)  my  discourse  tends; 
but  to  point  you,  if  you  will  but  permit  me,  to  that  rock  which 
I myself  have,  I know  not  by  what  Divine  good  hap,  attained  ; 
if,  indeed,  I have  attained  it,  and  am  not  about  to  be  washed 
off  again  by  the  next  tide.” 

Frank’s  rapid  and  fantastic  oratory,  utterly  unexpected  as  it 
was,  had  as  yet  left  their  wits  no  time  to  set  their  tempers  on 
fire  ; but  when,  weak  from  his  wounds,  he  paused  for  breath, 
there  was  a haughty  murmur  from  more  than  one  young  gentle- 
man, who  took  his  speech  as  an  impertinent  interference  with 
each  man’s  right  to  make  a fool  of  himself ; and  Mr.  Coffin, 
who  had  sat  quietly  bolt  upright,  and  looking  at  the  opposite 
wall,  now  rose  as  quietly,  and  with  a face  which  tried  to  look 
utterly  unconcerned,  was  walking  out  of  the  room : another 
minute,  and  Lady  Bath’s  prophecy  about  the  feast  of  the  Lapi- 
thse  might  have  come  true. 

But  Frank’s  heart  and  head  never  failed  him. 

“Mr.  Coffin!”  said  he,  in  a tone  which  compelled  that 
gentleman  to  turn  round,  and  so  brought  him  under  the  power 
of  a face  which  none  could  have  beheld  for  five  minutes  and 
borne  malice,  so  imploring,  tender,  earnest  was  it.  “ My  dear 
Mr.  Coffin ! If  my  earnestness  has  made  me  forget  even  for 
a moment  the  bounds  of  courtesy,  let  me  entreat  you  to  for- 
give me.  Do  not  add  to  my  heavy  griefs,  heavy  enough 
already,  the  grief  of  losing  a friend.  Only  hear  me  patiently 
to  the  end  (generously,  I know,  you  will  hear  me);  and  then, 
if  you  are  still  incensed,  I can  but  again  entreat  your  forgive- 
ness a second  time.” 

Mr.  Coffin,  to  tell  the  truth ) had  at  that  time  never  been 
to  Court ; and  he  was  therefore  somewhat  jealous  of  Frank, 
and  his  Court  talk,  and  his  Court  clothes,  and  his  Court  com- 
pany ; and  moreover,  being  the  eldest  of  the  guests,  and  only 
two  years  younger  than  Frank  himself,  he  was  a little  nettled 
at  being  classed  in  the  same  category  with  some  who  were  scarce 
eighteen.  And  if  Frank  had  given  the  least  hint  which  seemed 
to  assume  his  own  superiority,  all  had  been  lost : but  when, 
instead  thereof,  he  sued  in  formd  pauperis , and  threw  himself 


164  HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [CHAP.  Yin. 

upon  Coffin’s  mercy,  the  latter,  who  was  a true-hearted  man 
enough,  and  after  all  had  known  Frank  ever  since  either  of 
them  could  walk,  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  down  again  and 
submit,  while  Frank  went  on  more  earnestly  than  ever. 

“ Believe  me ; believe  me,  Mr.  Coffin,  and  gentlemen  all,  I 
no  more  arrogate  to  myself  a superiority  over  you  than  does 
the  sailor  hurled  on  shore  by  the  surge  fancy  himself  better 
than  his  comrade  who  is  still  battling  with  the  foam.  For  I 
too,  gentlemen, — let  me  confess  it,  that  by  confiding  in  you  I 
may,  perhaps,  win  you  to  confide  in  me, — have  loved,  ay  and  do 
love,  where  you  love  also.  Do  not  start.  Is  it  a matter  ol 
wonder  that  the  sun  which  has  dazzled  you  has  dazzled  me ; 
that  the  lodestone  which  has  drawn  you  has  drawn  me  *?  Do 
not  frown,  either,  gentlemen.  I have  learnt  to  love  you  for 
loving  what  I love,  and  to  admire  you  for  admiring  that  which 
I admire.  Will  you  not  try  the  same  lesson : so  easy,  and, 
when  learnt,  so  blissful  ? What  breeds  more  close  communion 
between  subjects  than  allegiance  to  the  same  queen  1 between 
brothers,  than  duty  to  the  same  father  1 between  the  devout, 
than  adoration  for  the  same  Deity  ? And  shall  not  worship  for 
the  same  beauty  be  likewise  a bond  of  love  between  the  worship- 
pers ? and  each  lover  see  in  his  rival  not  an  enemy,  but  a fellow- 
sufferer1?  You  smile  and  say  in  your  hearts,  that  though  all 
may  worship,  but  one  can  enjoy  ; and  that  one  man’s  meat  must 
be  the  poison  of  the  rest.  Be  it  so,  though  I deny  it.  Shall 
we  anticipate  our  own  doom,  and  slay  ourselves  for  fear  of  dying1? 
Shall  we  make  ourselves  unworthy  of  her  from  our  very  eager- 
ness to  win  her,  and  show  ourselves  her  faithful  knights,  by 
cherishing  envy, — most  unknightly  of  all  sins  ? Shall  we  dream 
with  the  Italian  or  the  Spaniard  that  we  can  become  more 
amiable  in  a lady’s  eyes,  by  becoming  hateful  in  the  eyes  of  God 
and  of  each  other  h Will  she  love  us  the  better,  if  we  come  to 
her  with  hands  stained  in  the  blood  of  him  whom  she  loves 
better  than  us  ? Let  us  recollect  ourselves  rather,  gentlemen  ; 
and  be  sure  that  our  only  chance  of  winning  her,  if  she  be  worth 
winning,  is  to  will  what  she  wills,  honour  whom  she  honours, 
love  whom  she  loves.  If  there  is  to  be  rivalry  among  us,  let 
it  be  a rivalry  in  nobleness,  an  emulation  in  virtue.  Let  each 
try  to  outstrip  the  other  in  loyalty  to  his  queen,  in  valour 
against  her  foes,  in  deeds  of  courtesy  and  mercy  to  the  afflicted 
and  oppressed ; and  thus  our  love  will  indeed  prove  its  own 
divine  origin,  by  raising  us  nearer  to  those  gods  whose  gift  it  is. 
But  yet  I show  you  a more  excellent  way,  and  that  is  charity. 


OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED. 


165 


CHAP.  VIII.] 

Why  should  we  not  make  this  common  love  to  her,  whom  I am 
unworthy  to  name,  the  sacrament  of  a common  love  to  each 
other]  Why  should  we  not  follow  the  heroical  examples  of 
those  ancient  knights,  who  having  but  one  grief,  one  desire, 
one  goddess,  held  that  one  heart  was  enough  to  contain  that 
grief,  to  nourish  that  desire,  to  worship  that  divinity ; and  so 
uniting  themselves  in  friendship  till  they  became  but  one  soul 
in  two  bodies,  lived  only  for  each  other  in  living  only  for  her, 
vowing  as  faithful  worshippers  to  abide  by  her  decision,  to  find 
their  own  bliss  in  hers,  and  whomsoever  she  esteemed  most 
worthy  of  her  love,  to  esteem  most  worthy  also,  and  count  them- 
selves, by  that  her  choice,  the  bounden  servants  of  him  whom 
their  mistress  had  condescended  to  advance  to  the  dignity  of 
her  master  ] — as  I (not  without  hope  that  I shall  be  outdone  in 
generous  strife)  do  here  promise  to  be  the  faithful  friend,  and, 
to  my  ability,  the  hearty  servant,  of  him  who  shall  be  honoured 
with  the  love  of  the  Rose  of  Torridge.” 

He  ceased,  and  there  was  a pause. 

At  last  young  Fortescue  spoke. 

“ I may  be  paying  you  a left-handed  compliment,  sir  : but 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  so  likely,  in  that  case,  to  become 
your  own  faithful  friend  and  hearty  servant  (even  if  you  have 
not  borne  off  the  bell  already  while  we  have  been  asleep),  that 
the  bargain  is  hardly  fair  between. such  a gay  Italianist  and  us 
country  swains.” 

“ You  undervalue  yourself  and  your  country,  my  dear  sir. 
But  set  your  mind  at  rest.  I know  no  more  of  that  lady’s  mind 
than  you  do  : nor  shall  I know.  For  the  sake  of  my  own  peace, 
I have  made  a vow  neither  to  see  her,  nor  to  hear,  if  possible, 
tidings  of  her,  till  three  full  years  are  past.  Dixi  ]” 

Mr.  Coffin  rose. 

“ Gentlemen,  I may  submit  to  be  outdone  by  Mr.  Leigh  in 
eloquence,  but  not  in  generosity ; if  he  leaves  these  parts  for 
three  years,  I do  so  also.” 

“ And  go  in  charity  with  all  mankind,”  said  Cary.  “ Give 
us  your  hand,  old  fellow.  If  you  are  a Coffin,  you  were  sawn 
out  of  no  wishy-washy  elm-board,  but  right  heart-of-oak.  I am 
going,  too,  as  Amyas  here  can  tell,  to  Ireland  away,  to  cool  my 
hot  liver  in  a bog,  like  a Jack-hare  in  March.  Come,  give  us 
thy  neif,  and  let  us  part  in  peace.  I was  minded  to  have  fought 
thee  this  day ” 

“ I should  have  been  most  happy,  sir,”  said  Coffin. 

— “ But  now  I am  all  love  and  charity  to  mankind.  Can 


166 


HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD 


[CHAP.  VIII. 


I have  the  pleasure  of  begging  pardon  of  the  world  in  general, 
and  thee  in  particular  ? Does  any  one  wish  to  pull  my  nose ; 
send  me  an  errand  ; make  me  lend  him  five  pounds  ; ay,  make 
me  buy  a horse  of  him,  which  will  be  as  good  as  giving  him  ten  ? 
Come  along  ! Join  hands  all  round,  and  swear  eternal  friend- 
ship, as  brothers  of  the  sacred  order  of  the — of  what  ? Frank 
Leigh?  Open  thy  mouth,  Daniel,  and  christen  us  !” 

“ The  Rose  P said  Frank  quietly,  seeing  that  his  new  love- 
philtre  was  working  well,  and  determined  to  strike  while  the 
iron  was  hot,  and  carry  the  matter  too  far  to  carry  it  back  again. 

“The  Rose!”  cried  Cary,  catching  hold  of  Coffin’s  hand 
with  his  right,  and  Fortescue’s  with  his  left.  “ Come,  Mr. 
Coffin  ! Bend,  sturdy  oak  ! ‘ Woe  to  the  stiffnecked  and  stout- 
hearted !’  says  Scripture.” 

And  somehow  or  other,  whether  it  was  Frank’s  chivalrous 
speech,  or  Cary’s  fun,  or  Amyas’s  good  wine,  or  the  nobleness 
which  lies  in  every  young  lad’s  heart,  if  their  elders  will  take 
the  trouble  to  call  it  out,  the  whole  party  came  in  to  terms  one 
by  one,  shook  hands  all  round,  and  vowed  on  the  hilt  of  Amyas’s 
sword  to  make  fools  of  themselves  no  more,  at  least  by  jealousy : 
but  to  stand  by  each  other  and  by  their  lady-love,  and  neither 
grudge  nor  grumble,  let  her  dance  with,  flirt  with,  or  marry 
with  whom  she  would ; and  in  order  that  the  honour  of  their 
peerless  dame,  and  the  brotherhood  which  was  named  after  her, 
might  be  spread  through  all  lands,  and  equal  that  of  Angelica 
or  Isonde  of  Brittany,  they  would  each  go  home,  and  ask  their 
fathers’  leave  (easy  enough  to  obtain  in  those  brave  times)  to 
go  abroad  wheresoever  there  were  “ good  wars,”  to  emulate  there 
the  courage  and  the  courtesy  of  Walter  Manny  and  Gonzalo 
Fernandes,  Bayard  and  Gaston  de  Foix.  Why  not?  Sidney 
was  the  hero  of  Europe  at  five-and-twenty ; and  why  not  they? 

And  Frank  watched  and  listened  with  one  of  his  quiet 
smiles  (his  eyes,  as  some  folks  do,  smiled  even  when  his  lips 
were  still)  and  only  said  : “ Gentlemen,  be  sure  that  you  will 
never  repent  this  day.” 

“ Repent  ?”  said  Cary.  “ I feel  already  as  angelical  as 
thou  lookest,  Saint  Silvertongue.  What  was  it  that  sneezed  ? 
— the  cat  ?” 

“ The  lion,  rather,  by  the  roar  of  it,”  said  Amyas,  making 
a dash  at  the  arras  behind  him.  “Why,  here  is  a doorway  here! 
and ” 

And  rushing  under  the  arras,  through  an  open  door  behind, 
he  returned,  dragging  out  by  the  head  Mr.  John  Brimblecombe. 


167 


CHAP.  VIII.]  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED. 

Who  was  Mr.  John  Brimblecombe  ? 

If  you  have  forgotten  him,  you  have  done  pretty  nearly 
what  every  one  else  in  the  room  had  done.  But  you  recollect 
a certain  fat  lad,  son  of  the  schoolmaster,  whom  Sir  Richard 
punished  for  talebearing  three  years  before,  by  sending  him,  not 
to  Coventry,  but  to  Oxford.  That  was  the  man.  He  was  now 
one-and-twenty,  and  a bachelor  of  Oxford,  where  he  had  learnt 
such  things  as  were  taught  in  those  days,  with  more  or  less 
success ; and  he  was  now  hanging  about  Bideford  once  more, 
intending  to  return  after  Christmas  and  read  divinity,  that  he 
might  become  a parson,  and  a shepherd  of  souls  in  his  native 
land. 

Jack  was  in  person  exceedingly  like  a pig : but  not  like 
every  pig  : not  in  the  least  like  the  Devon  pigs  of  those  days, 
which,  I am  sorry  to  say,  were  no  more  shapely  than  the  true 
Irish  greyhound  who  pays  Pat’s  “ rint  ” for  him ; or  than  the 
lanky  monsters  who  wallow  in  German  rivulets,  while  the 
village  swineherd,  beneath  a shady  lime,  forgets  his  fleas  in  the 
melody  of  a Jew’s  harp — strange  mud-coloured  creatures,  four 
feet  high  and  four  inches  thick,  which  look  as  if  they  had  passed 
their  lives,  as  a collar  of  Oxford  brawn  is  said  to  do,  between 
two  tight  boards.  Such  were  then  the  pigs  of  Devon  : not  to 
be  compared  with  the  true  wild  descendant  of  Noah’s  stock, 
high-withered,  furry,  grizzled,  game-flavoured  little  rooklers, 
whereof  many  a sownder  still  grunted  about  Swinley  down  and 
Braunton  woods,  Clovelly  glens  and  Bursdon  moor.  Not  like 
these,  nor  like  the  tame  abomination  of  those  barbarous  times, 
was  Jack  : but  prophetic  in  face,  figure,  and  complexion,  of 
Fisher  Hobbs  and  the  triumphs  of  science.  A Fisher  Hobbs’ 
pig  of  twelve  stone,  on  his  hind-legs — that  was  what  he  was, 
and  nothing  else  ; and  if  you  do  not  know,  reader,  what  a 
Fisher  Hobbs  is,  you  know  nothing  about  pigs,  and  deserve  no 
bacon  for  breakfast.  But  such  was  Jack.  The  same  plump  mul- 
berry complexion,  garnished  with  a few  scattered  black  bristles  ; 
the  same  sleek  skin,  looking  always  as  if  it  was  upon  the  point 
of  bursting ; the  same  little  toddling  legs  ; the  same  dapper  bend 
in  the  small  of  the  back  ; the  same  cracked  squeak ; the  same 
low  upright  forehead,  and  tiny  eyes ; the  same  round  self-satis- 
fied jowl ; the  same  charming  sensitive  little  cocked  nose,  always 
on  the  look-out  for  a savoury  smell, — and  yet  while  watching 
for  the  best,  contented  with  the  worst ; a pig  of  self-helpful 
and  serene  spirit,  as  Jack  was,  and  therefore,  like  him,  fatting 
fpj^t  while  other  pigs’  ribs  are  staring  through  their  skins. 


168  HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [CHAP.  vm. 

Such  was  Jack  ; and  lucky  it  was  for  him  that  such  he  was  ; 
for  it  was  little  that  he  got  to  fat  him  at  Oxford,  in  days  wjien 
a servitor  meant  really  a servant-student  ; and  wistfully  that 
day  did  his  eyes,  led  by  his  nose,  survey  at  the  end  of  the  Ship 
Inn  passage  the  preparations  for  Amyas’s  supper.  The  innkeeper 
was  a friend  of  his  ; for,  in  the  first  place,  they  had  lived  within 
three  doors  of  each  other  all  their  lives  ; and  next,  Jack  was 
quite  pleasant  company  enough,  beside  being  a learned  man 
and  an  Oxford  scholar,  to  be  asked  in  now  and  then  to  the  inn- 
keeper’s private  parlour,  when  there  were  no  gentlemen  there, 
to  crack  his  little  joke  and  tell  his  little  story,  sip  the  leavings 
of  the  guests’  sack,  and  sometimes  help  the  host  to  eat  the 
leavings  of  their  supper.  And  it  was,  perhaps,  with  some  such 
hope  that  Jack  trotted  off  round  the  corner  to  the  Ship  that 
very  afternoon ; for  that  faithful  little  nose  of  his,  as  it  sniffed 
out  of  a back  window  of  the  school,  had  given  him  warning  of 
Sabean  gales,  and  scents  of  Paradise,  from  the  inn  kitchen 
below ; so  he  went  round,  and  asked  for  his  pot  of  small  ale 
(his  only  luxury),  and  stood  at  the  bar  to  drink  it ; and  looked 
inward  with  his  little  twinkling  right  eye  and  sniffed  inward 
with  his  little  curling  right  nostril,  and  beheld,  in  the  kitchen 
beyond,  salad  in  stacks  and  faggots : salad  of  lettuce,  salad  of 
cress  and  endive,  salad  of  boiled  coleworts,  salad  of  pickled 
coleworts,  salad  of  angelica,  salad  of  scurvy-wort,  and  seven 
salads  more ; for  potatoes  were  not  as  yet,  and  salads  were 
during  eight  months  of  the  year  the  only  vegetable.  And  on 
the  dresser,  and  before  the  fire,  whole  hecatombs  of  fragrant 
victims,  which  needed  neither  frankincense  nor  myrrh ; Clovelly 
herrings  and  Torridge  salmon,  Exmoor  mutton  and  Stow  venison, 
stubble  geese  and  woodcocks,  curlew  and  snipe,  hams  of  Hamp- 
shire, chitterlings  of  Taunton,  and  botargos  of  Cadiz,  such  as 
Pantagrue  himself  might  have  devoured.  And  Jack  eyed  them, 
as  a ragged  boy  eyes  the  cakes  in  a pastrycook’s  window ; and 
thought  of  the  scraps  from  the  commoner’s  dinner,  which  were 
his  wages  for  cleaning  out  the  hall ; and  meditated  deeply  on 
the  unequal  distribution  of  human  bliss. 

“Ah,  Mr.  Brimblecombe !”  said  the  host,  bustling  out  with 
knife  and  apron  to  cool  himself  in  the  passage.  “ Here  are 
doings  ! Nine  gentlemen  to  supper  !” 

“ Nine  ! Are  they  going  to  eat  all  that  V ’ 

“Well,  I can’t  say — that  Mr.  Amyas  is  as  good  as  three  to 
his  trencher : but  still  there’s  crumbs,  Mr.  Brimblecombe, 
crumbs  ; and  Waste  not  want  not  is  my  doctrine ; so  you  and 


CHAP,  viii.]  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED.  169 

I may  have  a somewhat  to  stay  our  stomachs,  about  an  eight 
o’clock.” 

“Eight?”  said  Jack,  looking  wistfully  at  the  clock.  “It’s 
but  four  now.  Well,  it’s  kind  of  you,  and  perhaps  I’ll  look  in.” 
“Just  you  step  in  now,  and  look  to  this  venison.  There’s 
a breast ! you  may  lay  your  two  fingers  into  the  say  there,  and 
not  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  fat.  That’s  Sir  Richard’s  sending. 
He’s  all  for  them  Leighs,  and  no  wonder,  they’m  brave  lads, 
surely ; and  there’s  a saddle-o’-mutton  ! I rode  twenty  miles 
for  mun  yesterday,  I did,  over  beyond  Barnstaple  ; and  five  year 
old,  Mr.  John,  it  is,  if  ever  five  years  was  ; and  not  a tooth  to 
mtrn’s  head,  for  I looked  to  that ; and  smelt  all  the  way  home 
like  any  apple ; and  if  it  don’t  ate  so  soft  as  ever  was  scald 
cream,  never  you  call  me  Thomas  Burman.” 

“Humph!”  said  Jack.  “ And  that’s  their  dinner.  Well, 
some  are  born  with  a silver  spoon  in  their  mouth.” 

“ Some  be  born  with  roast  beef  in  their  mouths,  and  plum- 
pudding in  their  pocket  to  take  away  the  taste  o’  mun  ; and 
that’s  better  than  empty  spunes,  eh  ?” 

“For  them  that  get  it,”  said  Jack.  “ But  for  them  that 

don’t ” And  with  a sigh  he  returned  to  his  small  ale,  and 

then  lingered  in  and  out  of  the  inn,  watching  the  dinner  as  it 
went  into  the  best  room,  where  the  guests  were  assembled. 

And  as  he  lounged  there,  Amyas  went  in,  and  saw  him,  and 
held  out  his  hand,  and  said — 

“ Hillo,  Jack  ! how  goes  the  world  ? How  you’ve  grown  !” 
and  passed  on ; — what  had  Jack  Brimblecombe  to  do  with 
Rose  Salterne? 

So  Jack  lingered  on,  hovering  around  the  fragrant  smell 
like  a fly  round  a honey-pot,  till  he  found  himself  invisibly 
attracted,  and  as  it  were  led  by  the  nose  out  of  the  passage  into 
the  adjoining  room,  and  to  that  side  of  the  room  where  there 
was  a door ; and  once  there  he  could  not  help  hearing  what 
passed  inside ; till  Rose  Salterne’s  name  fell  on  his  ear.  So, 
as  it  was  ordained,  he  was  taken  in  the  fact.  And  now  behold 
him  brought  in  red-hand  to  judgment,  not  without  a kick  or 
two  from  the  wrathful  foot  of  Amyas  Leigh.  Whereat  there 
fell  on  him  a storm  of  abuse,  which,  for  the  honour  of  that 
gallant  company,  I shall  not  give  in  detail  ; but  which  abuse, 
strange  to  say,  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  the  impenitent  and 
unabashed  Jack,  who,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  his  breath,  made 
answer  fiercely,  amid  much  puffing  and  blowing. 

“What  business  have  I here?  As  much  as  any  of  you. 


170  HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [chap.  VIII. 

If  you  had  asked  me  in,  I would  have  come  : hut  as  you  didn’t, 
I came  without  asking.” 

“You  shameless  rascal!”  said  Cary.  “Come  if  you  were 
asked,  where  there  was  good  wine  ? I’ll  warrant  you  for  that !” 

“ Why,”  said  Amyas,  “ no  lad  ever  had  a cake  at  school 
but  he  would  dog  him  up  one  street  and  down  another  all  day 
for  the  crumbs,  the  trencher-scraping 'spaniel !” 

“ Patience,  masters  !”  said  Frank.  “ That  Jack’s  is  some- 
what of  a gnathonic  and  parasitic  soul,  or  stomach,  all  Bideford 
apple-women  know  ; but  I suspect  more  than  Deus  Venter  has 
brought  him  hither.” 

“ Deus  eavesdropping,  then.  We  shall  have  the  whole 
story  over  the  town  by  to-morrow,”  said  another  ; beginning  at 
that  thought  to  feel  somewhat  ashamed  of  his  late  enthusiasm. 

“ Ah,  Mr.  Frank  ! You  were  always  the  only  one  that 
would  stand  up  for  me!  Deus  Venter,  quotha?  ’Twas  Deus 
Cupid,  it  was  !” 

A roar  of  laughter  followed  this  announcement. 

“ What  ?”  asked  Frank  ; “ was  it  Cupid,  then,  who  sneezed 
approval  to  our  love,  Jack,  as  he  did  to  that  of  Dido  and 
.ZEneas  ?” 

But  Jack  went  on  desperately. 

“ I was  in  the  next  room,  drinking  of  my  beer.  I couldn’t 
help  that,  could  I ? And  then  I heard  her  name  ; and  I couldn’t 
help  listening  then.  Flesh  apd  blood  couldn’t.” 

“Nor  fat  either !” 

“No,  nor  fat,  Mr.  Cary.  Do  you  suppose  fat  men  haven’t 
souls  to  be  saved  as  well  as  thin  ones,  and  hearts  to  burst,  too, 
as  well  as  stomachs  ? Fat ! Fat  can  feel,  I reckon,  as  well  as 
lean.  Do  you  suppose  there’s  nought  inside  here  but  beer?” 

And  he  laid  his  hand,  as  Drayton  might  have  said,  on  that 
stout  bastion,  hornwork,  ravelin,  or  demilune,  which  formed  the 
outworks  to  the  citadel  of  his  purple  isle  of  man. 

“Nought  but  beer? — Cheese,  I suppose?” 

“Bread  ?” 

“ Beef?” 

“Love  !”  cried  Jack.  “Yes,  Love! — Ay,  you  laugh;  but 
my  eyes  are  not  so  grown  up  with  fat  but  what  I can  see  what’s 
fair  as  well  as  you.” 

“ Oh,  Jack,  naughty  Jack,  dost  thou  heap  sin  on  sin,  and 
luxury  on  gluttony  ?” 

“ Sin  ? If  I sin,  you  sin  : I tell  you,  and  I don’t  care  who 
knows  it,  I’ve  loved  her  these  three  years  as  well  as  e’er  a one 


CHAP,  viii.]  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED.  171 

of  you,  I have.  I’ve  thought  o’  nothing  else,  prayed  for  nothing 
else,  God  forgive  me  ! And  then  you  laugh  at  me,  because  I’m 
a poor  parson’s  son,  and  you  fine  gentlemen  : God  made  us  both, 
I reckon.  You  ? — you  make  a deal  of  giving  her  up  to-day. 
Why,  it’s  what  I’ve  done  for  three  miserable  years  as  ever  poor 
sinner  spent ; ay,  from  the  first  day  I said  to  myself,  ‘ Jack,  if 
you  can’t  have  that  pearl,  you’ll  have  none  ; and  that  you  can’t 
have,  for  it’s  meat  for  your  masters  : so  conquer  or  die.’  And 
I couldn’t  conquer.  I can’t  help  loving  her,  worshipping  her,  no 
more  than  you  ; and  I will  die  : but  you  needn’t  laugh  mean- 
while at  me  that  have  done  as  much  as  you,  and  will  do  again.” 
“ It  is  the  old  tale,”  said  Frank  to  himself ; “ whom  will  not 
love  transform  into  a hero?” 

And  so  it  was.  Jack’s  squeaking  voice  was  firm  and  manly, 
his  pig’s  eyes  flashed  very  fire,  his  gestures  were  so  free  and 
earnest,  that  the  ungainliness  of  his  figure  was  forgotten ; and 
when  he  finished  with  a violent  burst  of  tears,  Frank,  forgetting 
his  wounds,  sprang  up  and  caught  him  by  the  hand. 

“John  Brimblecombe,  forgive  me!  Gentlemen,  if  we  are 
gentlemen,  we  ought  to  ask  his  pardon.  Has  he  not  shown 
already  more  chivalry,  more  self-denial,  and  therefore  more 
true  love,  than  any  of  us  1 My  friends,  let  the  fierceness  of 
affection,  which  we  have  used  as  an  excuse  for  many  a sin  of 
our  own,  excuse  his  listening  to  a conversation  in  which  he 
well  deserved  to  bear  a part.” 

“Ah,”  said  Jack,  “you  make  me  one  of  your  brotherhood; 
and  see  if  I do  not  dare  to  suffer  as  much  as  any  of  you  ! You 
laugh  ? Do  you  fancy  none  can  use  a sword  unless  he  has  a 
baker’s  dozen  of  quarterings  in  his  arms,  or  that  Oxford  scholars 
know  only  how  to  handle  a pen  ?” 

“ Let  us  try  his  metal,”  said  St.  Leger.  “Here’s  my  sword, 
Jack;  draw,  Coffin  ! and  have  at  him.” 

“Nonsense!”  said  Coffin,  looking  somewhat  disgusted  at 
the  notion  of  fighting  a man  of  Jack’s  rank  ; but  Jack  caught 
at  the  weapon  offered  to  him. 

“ Give  me  a buckler,  and  have  at  any  of  you  !” 

“Here’s  a chair  bottom,”  cried  Cary;  and  Jack,  seizing  it 
in  his  left,  flourished  his  sword  so  fiercely,  and  called  so  loudly 
to  Coffin  to  come  on,  that  all  present  found  it  necessary,  unless 
they  wished  blood  to  be  spilt,  to  turn  the  matter  off  with  a 
laugh  : but  Jack  would  not  hear  of  it. 

“ Nay  : if  you  will  let  me  be  of  your  brotherhood,  well  and 
good  : but  if  not,  one  or  other  I will  fight : and  that’s  flat.” 


172  HOW  THE  NOBLE  BROTHERHOOD  [chap.  VIII. 

“ You  see,  gentlemen,”  said  Amyas,  “ we  must  admit  him 
or  die  the  death ; so  we  needs  must  go  when  Sir  Urian  drives. 
Come  up,  Jack,  and  take  the  oaths.  You  admit  him,  gentle- 
men ? ” 

“ Let  me  but  be  your  chaplain,”  said  Jack,  “and  pray  for  your 
luck  when  you’re  at  the  wars.  If  I do  stay  at  home  in  a country 
curacy,  ’tis  not  much  that  you  need  be  jealous  of  me  with  her,  I 
reckon,”  said  Jack,  with  a pathetical  glance  at  his  own  stomach. 

“ Sia  !”  said  Cary  : “ but  if  he  be  admitted,  it  must  be  done 
according  to  the  solemn  forms  and  ceremonies  in  such  cases  pro- 
vided. Take  him  into  the  next  room,  Amyas,  and  prepare  him 
for  his  initiation.” 

“What’s  that?”  asked  Amyas,  puzzled  by  the  word.  But 
judging  from  the  corner  of  Will’s  eye  that  initiation  was  Latin 
for  a practical  joke,  he  led  forth  his  victim  behind  the  arras 
again,  and  waited  five  minutes  while  the  room  was  being  dark- 
ened, till  Frank’s  voice  called  to  him  to  bring  in  the  neophyte. 

“John  Brimblecombe,”  said  Frank  in  a sepulchral  tone, 
“ you  cannot  be  ignorant,  as  a scholar  and  bachelor  of  Oxford, 
of  that  dread  Sacrament  by  which  Cataline  bound  the  soul  of 
his  fellow-conspirators,  in  order  that  both  by  the  daring  of  the 
deed  he  might  have  proof  of  their  sincerity,  and  by  the  horror 
thereof  astringe  their  souls  by  adamantine  fetters,  and  Novem- 
Stygian  oaths,  to  that  wherefrom  hereafter  the  weakness  of  the 
flesh  might  shrink.  Wherefore,  0 Jack  ! we  too  have  deter- 
mined, following  that  ancient  and  classical  example,  to  fill,  as 
he  did,  a bowl  with  the  life-blood  of  our  most  heroic  selves,  and 
to  pledge  each  other  therein,  with  vows  whereat  the  stars  shall 
tremble  in  their  spheres,  and  Luna,  blushing,  veil  her  silver 
cheeks.  Your  blood  alone  is  wanted  to  fill  up  the  goblet.  Sit 
down,  John  Brimblecombe,  and  bare  your  arm  !” 

“But,  Mr.  Frank! ” said  Jack;  who  was  as  super- 

stitious as  any  old  wife,  and,  what  with  the  darkness  and  the 
discourse,  already  in  a cold  perspiration. 

“ But  me  no  buts  ! or  depart  as  recreant,  not  by  the  door 
like  a man,  but  up  the  chimney  like  a flittermouse.” 

“But,  Mr.  Frank!” 

“ Thy  vital  juice,  or  the  chimney  ! Choose  !”  roared  Cary 
in  his  ear. 

“ Well,  if  I must,”  said  Jack ; “ but  it’s  desperate  hard 
that  because  you  can’t  keep  faith  without  these  barbarous 
oaths,  I must  take  them  too,  that  have  kept  faith  these  three 
years  without  any.” 


CHAP.  VIII.]  OF  THE  ROSE  WAS  FOUNDED.  173 

At  this  pathetic  appeal  Frank  nearly  melted  : but  Amyas 
and  Cary  had  thrust  the  victim  into  a chair  and  all  was  pre- 
pared for  the  sacrifice. 

“ Bind  his  eyes,  according  to  the  classic  fashion,”  said  Will. 

“Oh  no,  dear  Mr.  Cary;  I’ll  shut  them  tight  enough,  I 
warrant : but  not  with  your  dagger,  dear  Mr.  William — sure, 
not  with  your  dagger  ? I can’t  afford  to  lose  blood,  though  I 
do  look  lusty — I can’t  indeed  ; sure,  a pin  would  do — I’ve  got 
one  here,  to  my  sleeve,  somewhere — Oh  !” 

“ See  the  fount  of  generous  juice  ! Flow  on,  fair  stream. 
How  he  bleeds  ! — pints,  quarts  ! Ah,  this  proves  him  to  be  in 
earnest !” 

“ A true  lover’s  blood  is  always  at  his  fingers’  ends.” 

“ He  does  not  grudge  it ; of  course  not.  Eh,  Jack  ? What 
matters  an  odd  gallon  for  lier  sake  V’ 

“ For  her  sake1?  Nothing,  nothing  ! Take  my  life,  if  you 
will : but — oh,  gentlemen,  a surgeon,  if  you  love  me  ! I’m 
going  off — I’m  fainting  !” 

“ Drink,  then,  quick ; drink  and  swear ! Pat  his  back, 
Cary.  Courage,  man  ! it  will  be  over  in  a minute.  Now, 
Frank ! ” 

And  Frank  spoke — 

“ If  plighted  troth  I fail,  or  secret  speech  reveal, 

May  Cocytean  ghosts  around  my  pillow  squeal ; 

While  Ate’s  brazen  claws  distringe  my  spleen  in  sunder, 

And  drag  me  deep  to  Pluto’s  keep,  ’mid  brimstone,  smoke,  and  thunder  ! ” 

“ Placetne,  domine  ?” 

“ Placet !”  squeaked  Jack,  who  thought  himself  at  the  last 
gasp,  and  gulped  down  full  three-quarters  of  the  goblet  which 
Cary  held  to  his  lips. 

“ Ugh — Ah — Puh  ! Mercy  on  us  ! It  tastes  mighty  like 
wine  !” 

“A  proof,  my  virtuous  brother,”  said  Frank,  “first,  of  thy 
abstemiousness,  which  has  thus  forgotten  what  wine  tastes 
like ; and  next,  of  thy  pure  and  heroical  affection,  by  which 
thy  carnal  senses  being  exalted  to  a higher  and  supra-lunar 
sphere,  like  those  Platonical  dsemonizomenoi  and  enthusia- 
zomenoi  (of  whom  Jamblichus  says  that  they  were  insensible 
to  wounds  and  flame,  and  much  more,  therefore,  to  evil  savours), 
doth  make  even  the  most  nauseous  draught  redolent  of  that 
celestial  fragrance,  which  proceeding,  0 Jack  ! from  thine  own 
inward  virtue,  assimilates  by  sympathy  even  outward  accidents 
unto  its  own  harmony  and  melody ; for  fragrance  is,  as  has 


174 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[CHAP.  ix. 

been  said  well,  the  song  of  flowers,  and  sweetness,  the  music  of 
apples — Ahem  ! Go  in  peace,  thou  hast  conquered !” 

“ Put  him  out  of  the  door,  Will,”  said  Amyas,  “ or  he  will 
swoon  on  our  hands.” 

“ Give  him  some  sack,”  said  Frank. 

“ Not  a blessed  drop  of  yours,  sir,”  said  Jack.  “ I like 
good  wine  as  well  as  any  man  on  earth,  and  see  as  little  of  it ; 
but  not  a drop  of  yours,  sirs,  after  your  frumps  and  flouts  about 
hanging-on  and  trencher-scraping.  When  I first  began  to  love 
her,  I bid  good-bye  to  all  dirty  tricks ; for  I had  some  one  then 
for  whom  to  keep  myself  clean.” 

And  so  Jack  was  sent  home,  with  a pint  of  good  red  Alicant 
wine  in  him  (more,  poor  fellow,  than  he  had  tasted  at  once  in 
his  life  before) ; while  the  rest,  in  high  glee  with  themselves 
and  "the  rest  of  the  world,  relighted  the  candles,  had  a right 
merry  evening,  and  parted  like  good  friends  and  sensible  gentle- 
men of  Devon,  thinking  (all  except  Frank)  Jack  Brimblecombe 
and  his  vow  the  merriest  jest  they  had  heard  for  many  a day. 
After  which  they  all  departed : Amyas  and  Gary  to  Winter’s 
squadron ; Frank  (as  soon  as  he  could  travel)  to  the  Court 
again ; and  with  him  young  Basset,  whose  father  Sir  Arthur, 
being  in  London,  procured  for  him  a page’s  place  in  Leicester’s 
household.  Fortescue  and  Chichester  went  to  their  brothers  in 
Dublin  ; St.  Leger  to  his  uncle  the  Marshal  of  Munster ; Coffin 
joined  Champernoun  and  Norris  in  the  Netherlands ; and  so 
the  Brotherhood  of  the  Rose  was  scattered  far  and  wide,  and 
Mistress  Salterne  was  left  alone  with  her  looking-glass. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HOW  AMYAS  KEPT  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 

“ Take  aim,  you  noble  musqueteers, 

And  shoot  you  round  about ; 

Stand  to  it,  valiant  pikemen, 

And  we  shall  keep  them  out. 

There’s  not  a man  of  all  of  us 
A foot  will  backward  flee  ; 

I’ll  be  the  foremost  man  in  fight, 

Says  brave  Lord  Willoughby  ! ” 

Elizabethan  Ballad. 

It  was  the  blessed  Christmas  afternoon.  The  light  was  fading 
down ; the  even-song  was  done ; and  the  good  folks  of  Bideford 
were  trooping  home  in  merry  groups,  the  father  with  his 


CHAP.  IX.]  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  175 

children,  the  lover  with  his  sweetheart,  to  cakes  and  ale,  and 
flapdragons  and  mummer’s  plays,  and  all  the  happy  sports  of 
Christmas  night.  One  lady  only,  wrapped  close  in  her  black 
muffler  and  followed  by  her  maid,  walked  swiftly,  yet  sadly, 
toward  the  long  causeway  and  bridge  which  led  to  Northam 
town.  Sir  Richard  Grenvile  and  his  wife  caught  her  up  and 
stopped  her  courteously. 

“You  will  come  home  with  us,  Mrs.  Leigh,”  said  Lady 
Grenvile,  “and  spend  a pleasant  Christmas  night  ?” 

Mrs.  Leigh  smiled  sweetly,  and  laying  one  hand  on  Lady 
Grenvile’s  arm,  pointed  with  the  other  to  the  westward,  and 
said — 

“ I cannot  well  spend  a merry  Christmas  night  while  that 
sound  is  in  my  ears.” 

The  whole  party  around  looked  in  the  direction  in  which 
she  pointed.  Above  their  heads  the  soft  blue  sky  was  fading 
into  grey,  and  here  and  there  a misty  star  peeped  out : but  to 
the  westward,  where  the  downs  and  woods  of  Raleigh  closed  in 
with  those  of  Abbotsham,  the  blue  was  webbed  and  turfed  with 
delicate  white  flakes ; iridescent  spots,  marking  the  path  by 
which  the  sun  had  sunk,  showed  all  the  colours  of  the  dying 
dolphin  ; and  low  on  the  horizon  lay  a long  band  of  grassy 
green.  But  what  was  the  sound  which  troubled  Mrs.  Leigh  ? 
None  of  them,  with  their  merry  hearts,  and  ears  dulled  with  the 
din  and  bustle  of  the  town,  had  heard  it  till  that  moment : and 
yet  now — listen  ! It  was  dead  calm.  There  was  not  a breath 
to  stir  a blade  of  grass.  And  yet  the  air  was  full  of  sound,  a 
low  deep  roar  which  hovered  over  down  and  wood,  salt-marsh 
and  river,  like  the  roll  of  a thousand  wheels,  the  tramp  of  end- 
less armies,  or — what  it  was — the  thunder  of  a mighty  surge 
upon  the  boulders  of  the  pebble  ridge. 

“ The  ridge  is  noisy  to-night,”  said  Sir  Richard.  “ There 
has  been  wind  somewhere.” 

“ There  is  wind  now,  where  my  boy  is,  God  help  him  !” 
said  Mrs.  Leigh  : and  all  knew  that  she  spoke  truly.  The 
spirit  of  the  Atlantic  storm  had  sent  forward  the  token  of  his 
coming,  in  the  smooth  ground-swell  which  was  heard  inland, 
two  miles  away.  To-morrow  the  pebbles,  which  were  now 
rattling  down  with  each  retreating  wave,  might  be  leaping  to 
the  ridge  top,  and  hurled  like  round-shot  far  ashore  upon  the 
marsh  by  the  force  of  the  advancing  wave,  fleeing  before  the 
wrath  of  the  western  hurricane. 

“ God  help  my  boy  !”  said  Mrs.  Leigh  again. 


176  HOW  AMYAS  KEPT  [chap.  ix. 

“ God  is  as  near  him  by  sea  as  by  land,”  said  good  Sir 
Richard. 

“ True  : but  I am  a lone  mother ; and  one  that  has  no  heart 
just  now  but  to  go  home  and  pray.” 

And  so  Mrs.  Leigh  went  onward  up  the  lane,  and  spent  all 
that  night  in  listening  between  her  prayers  to  the  thunder  of 
the  surge,  till  it  was  drowned,  long  ere  the  sun  rose,  in  the 
thunder  of  the  storm. 

And  where  is  Amyas  on  this  same  Christmas  afternoon  1 

Amyas  is  sitting  bareheaded  in  a boat’s  stern  in  Smerwick 
bay,  with  the  spray  whistling  through  his  curls,  as  he  shouts 
cheerfully — 

“Pull,  and  with  a will,  my  merry  men  all,  and  never  mind 
shipping  a sea.  Cannon  balls  are  a cargo  that  don’t  spoil  by 
taking  salt-water.” 

His  mother’s  presage  has  been  true  enough.  Christmas 
eve  has  been  the  last  of  the  still,  dark,  steaming  nights  of  the 
early  winter ; and  the  western  gale  has  been  roaring  for  the 
last  twelve  hours  upon  the  Irish  coast. 

The  short  light  of  the  winter  day  is  fading  fast.  Behind 
him  is  a leaping  line  of  billows  lashed  into  mist  by  the  tempest. 
Beside  him  green  foam-fringed  columns  are  rushing  up  the  black 
rocks,  and  falling  again  in  a thousand  cataracts  of  snow.  Be- 
fore him  is  the  deep  and  sheltered  bay  : but  it  is  not  far  up  the 
bay  that  he  and  his  can  see  ’ for  some  four  miles  out  at  sea 
begins  a sloping  roof  of  thick  grey  cloud,  which  stretches  over 
their  heads,  and  up  and  far  away  inland,  cutting  the  cliffs  off 
at  mid-height,  hiding  all  the  Kerry  mountains,  and  darkening 
the  hollows  of  the  distant  firths  into  the  blackness  of  night. 
And  underneath  that  awful  roof  of  whirling  mist  the  storm  is 
howling  inland  ever,  sweeping  before  it  the  great  foam-sponges, 
and  the  grey  salt  spray,  till  all  the  land  is  hazy,  dim,  and  dun. 
Let  it  howl  on  ! for  there  is  more  mist  than  ever  salt  spray 
made,  flying  before  that  gale  ; more  thunder  than  ever  sea-surge 
wakened  echoing  among  the  cliffs  of  Smerwick  bay ; along  those 
sand-hills  flash  in  the  evening  gloom  red  sparks  which  never 
came  from  heaven  ; for  that  fort,  now  christened  by  the  invaders 
the  Fort  Del  Oro,  where  flaunts  the  hated  golden  flag  of  Spain, 
holds  San  Josepho  and  eight  hundred  of  the  foe ; and  but  three 
nights  ago,  Amyas  and  Yeo,  and  the  rest  of  Winter’s  shrewdest 
hands,  slung  four  culverins  out  of  the  Admiral’s  main  deck,  and 
floated  them  ashore,  and  dragged  them  up  to  the  battery  among 
the  sand-hills;  and  now  it  shall  be  seen  whether  Spanish  and 


CHAP.  IX.]  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  177 

Italian  condottieri  can  hold  their  own  on  British  ground  against 
the  men  of  Devon. 

Small  blame  to  Atnyas  if  he  was  thinking,  not  of  his  lonely- 
mother  at  Burrough  Court,  but  of  those  quick  bright  flashes  on 
sand-hill  and  on  fort,  where  Salvation  Yoe  was  hurling  the 
eighteen-pound  shot  with  deadly  aim,  and  watching  with  a cool 
and  bitter  smile  of  triumph  the  flying  of  the  sand,  and  the 
crashing  of  the  gabions.  Amyas  and  his  party  had  been  on 
board,  at  the  risk  of  their  lives,  for  a fresh  supply  of  shot  ; for 
Winter’s  battery  was  out  of  ball,  and  had  been  firing  stones  for 
the  last  four  hours,  in  default  of  better  missiles.  They  ran  the 
boat  on  shore  through  the  surf,  where  a cove  in  the  shore  made 
landing  possible,  and  almost  careless  whether  she  stove  or  not, 
scrambled  over  the  sand-hills  with  each  man  his  brace  of  shot 
slung  across  his  shoulder  ; and  Amyas,  leaping  into  the  trenches, 
shouted  cheerfully  to  Salvation  Yeo — 

“More  food  for  the  bull-dogs,  Gunner,  and  plums  for  the 
Spaniards’  Christmas  pudding  !” 

“ Don’t  speak  to  a man  at  his  business,  Master  Amyas.  Five 
mortal  times  have  I missed ; but  I will  have  that  accursed 
Popish  rag  down,  as  I’m  a sinner.” 

“ Down  with  it,  then ; nobody  wants  you  to  shoot  crooked. 
Take  good  iron  to  it,  and  not  footy  paving-stones.” 

“ I believe,  sir,  that  the  foul  fiend  is  there,  a turning  of  my 
shot  aside,  I do.  I thought  I saw  him  once  : but,  thank  Heaven, 
here’s  ball  again.  Ah,  sir,  if  one  could  but  cast  a silver  one  ! 
Now,  stand  by,  men  !” 

And  once  again  Yeo’s  eighteen-pounder  roared,  and  away. 
And,  oh  glory  ! the  great  yellow  flag  of  Spain,  which  streamed 
in  the  gale,  lifted  clean  into  the  air,  flagstaff  and  all,  and  then 
pitched  wildly  down  head-foremost,  far  to  leeward. 

A hurrah  from  the  sailors,  answered  by  the  soldiers  of  the 
opposite  camp,  shook  the  very  cloud  above  them  : but  ere  its 
echoes  had  died  away,  a tall  officer  leapt  upon  the  parapet  of 
the  fort,  with  the  fallen  flag  in  his  hand,  and  rearing  it  as  well 
as  he  could  upon  his  lance  point,  held  it  firmly  against  the  gale, 
while  the  fallen  flagstaff  was  raised  again  within. 

In  a moment  a dozen  long  bows  were  bent  at  the  daring 
foeman  : but  Amyas  behind  shouted — 

“ Shame,  lads  ! Stop  and  let  the  gallant  gentleman  have 
due  courtesy  !” 

So  they  stopped,  while  Amyas,  springing  on  the  rampart  of 
the  battery,  took  off  his  hat,  and  bowed  to  the  flag-holder,  who, 

N 


178 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[chap.  ix. 

as  soon  as  relieved  of  his  charge,  returned  the  bow  courteously, 
and  descended. 

It  was  by  this  time  all  but  dark,  and  the  firing  began  to 
slacken  on  all  sides  ; Salvation  and  his  brother  gunners,  having 
covered  up  their  slaughtering  tackle  with  tarpauliugs,  retired 
for  the  night,  leaving  Amyas,  who  had  volunteered  to  take  the 
watch  till  midnight  • and  the  rest  of  the  force  having  got  their 
scanty  supper  of  biscuit  (for  provisions  were  running  very  short) 
lay  down  under  arms  among  the  sand-hills,  and  grumbled  them- 
selves to  sleep. 

He  had  paced  up  and  down  in  the  gusty  darkness  for  some 
hour  or  more,  exchanging  a passing  word  now  and  then  with  the 
sentinel,  when  two  men  entered  the  battery,  chatting  busily 
together.  One  was  in  complete  armour  ; the  other  wrapt  in 
the  plain  short  cloak  of  a man  of  pens  and  peace : but  the  talk 
of  both  was  neither  of  sieges  nor  of  sallies,  catapult,  bombard, 
nor  culverin,  but  simply  of  English  hexameters. 

And  fancy  not,  gentle  reader,  that  the  two  were  therein 
fiddling  while  Rome  was  burning ; for  the  commonweal  of 
poetry  and  letters,  in  that  same  critical  year  1580,  was  in  far 
greater  danger  from  those  same  hexameters  than  the  common 
woe  of  Ireland  (as  Raleigh  called  it)  was  from  the  Spaniards. 

Imitating  the  classic  metres,  “ versifying,”  as  it  was  called 
in  contradistinction  to  rhyming,  was  becoming  fast  the  fashion 
among  the  more  learned.  Stonyhurst  and  others  had  tried  their 
hands  at  hexameter  translations  from  the  Latin  and  Greek  epics, 
which  seem  to  have  been  doggerel  enough  ; and  ever  and  anon 
some  youthful  wit  broke  out  in  iambics,  sapphics,  elegiacs,  and 
what  not,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  queen’s  English  and 
her  subjects’  ears. 

I know  not  whether  Mr.  William  Webbe  had  yet  given  to 
the  world  any  fragments  of  his  precious  hints  for  the  “ Re- 
formation of  English  poetry,”  to  the  tune  of  his  own  “ Tityrus, 
happily  thou  liest  tumbling  under  a beech-tree  but  the  Cam- 
bridge Malvolio,  Gabriel  Harvey,  had  succeeded  in  arguing 
Spenser,  Dyer,  Sidney,  and  probably  Sidney’s  sister,  and  the 
whole  clique  of  beaux-esprits  round  them,  into  following  his 
model  of 

‘ ‘ What  might  I call  this  tree  ? A laurel  ? 0 bonny  laurel ! 

Needes  to  thy  bowes  will  I bowe  this  knee,  and  vail  my  bonetto 

after  snubbing  the  first  book  of  “ that  Elvish  Queene,”  which 
was  then  in  manuscript,  as  a base  declension  from  the  classical 
to  the  romantic  school. 


Edmund  Spenser . 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


179 


CHAP.  IX.] 

And  now  Spenser  (perhaps  in  mere  melancholy  wilfulness 
and  want  of  purpose,  for  he  had  just  been  jilted  by  a fair  maid 
of  Kent)  was  wasting  his  mighty  genius  upon  doggerel  which 
he  fancied  antique  : and  some  piratical  publisher  (Bitter  Tom 
Nash  swears,  and  with  likelihood,  that  Harvey  did  it  himself) 
had  just  given  to  the  world, — “ Three  proper  wittie  and  familiar 
Letters,  lately  past  between  two  University  men,  touching  the 
Earthquake  in  April  last,  and  our  English  reformed  Versifying,” 
which  had  set  all  town  wits  a-buzzing  like  a swarm  of  flies, 
being  none  other  than  a correspondence  between  Spenser  and 
Harvey,  which  was  to  prove  to  the  world  for  ever  the  correct- 
ness and  melody  of  such  lines  as,' 

‘ ‘ For  like  magnificoes,  not  a beck  but  glorious  in  show, 

In  deede  most  frivolous,  not  a looke  but  Tuscanish  always.” 

Let  them  pass — Alma  Mater  has  seen  as  bad  hexameters  since. 
But  then  the  matter  wras  serious.  There  is  a story  (I  know 
not  how  true),  that  Spenser  was  half  bullied  into  re-writing  the 
“ Fairy  Queen  ” in  hexameters,  had  not  Raleigh,  a true  roman- 
ticist, “whose  vein  for  ditty  or  amorous  ode  wras  most  lofty, 
insolent,  and  passionate,”  persuaded  him  to  follow  his  better 
genius.  The  great  dramatists  had  not  yet  arisen,  to  form  com- 
pletely that  truly  English  school,  of  which  Spenser,  unconscious 
of  his  own  vast  powers,  was  laying  the  foundation.  And,  indeed, 
it  was  not  till  Daniel,  twenty  years  after,  in  his  admirable 
apology  for  rhyme,  had  smashed  Mr.  Campian  and  his  “ eight 
several  kinds  of  classical  numbers,”  that  the  matter  was  finally 
settled,  and  the  English  tongue  left  to  go  the  road  on  which 
Heaven  had  started  it.  So  that  we  may  excuse  Raleigh’s 
answering  somewhat  waspish  to  some  quotation  of  Spenser’s 
from  the  three  letters  of  “ Immerito  and  G.  H.” 

“ Tut,  tut,  Colin  Clout,  much  learning  has  made  thee  mad. 
A good  old  fishwives’  ballad  jingle  is  worth  all  your  sapphics 
and  trimeters,  and  ‘ riff-raff  thurlery  bouncing.’  Hey  ? have  I 
you  there,  old  lad?  Do  you  mind  that  precious  verse ?” 

“ But,  dear  Wat,  Homer  and  Virgil 

“ But,  dear  Ned,  Petrarch  and  Ovid ” 

“But,  Wat,  what  have  we  that  we  do  not  owe  to  the 
ancients  ?” 

“ Ancients,  quotha  1 Why,  the  legend  of  King  Arthur,  and 
Chevy  Chase  too,  of  which  even  your  fellow-sinner  Sidney  can- 
not deny  that  every  time  he  hears  it  even  from  a blind  fiddler 
it  stirs  his  heart  like  a trumpet-blast.  Speak  well  of  the  bridge 


180 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[CHAP.  IX. 

that  carries  you  over,  man  ! Did  you  find  your  Redcross  Knight 
in  Virgil,  or  such  a dame  as  Una  in  old  Ovid1?  No  more  than 
you  did  your  Pater  and  Credo,  you  renegado  baptized  heathen, 
you !” 

“Yet,  surely,  our  younger  and  more  barbarous  taste  must 

bow  before  divine  antiquity,  and  imitate  afar ” 

“As  dottrels  do  fowlers.  If  Homer  was  blind,  lad,  why 
dost  not  poke  out  thine  eye  ? Ay,  this  hexameter  is  of  an 
ancient  house,  truly,  Ned  Spenser,  and  so  is  many  a rogue : 
but  he  cannot  make  way  on  our  rough  English  roads.  He  goes 
hopping  and  twitching  in  our  language  like  a three-legged  terrier 
over  a pebble-bank,  tumble  and  up  again,  rattle  and  crash.” 
“Nay,  hear,  now — 

‘ See  ye  the  blindfolded  pretty  god  that  feathered  archer, 

Of  lovers’  miseries  which  maketh  his  bloody  game  ? ’ 1 

True,  the  accent  gapes  in  places,  as  I have  often  confessed  to 
Harvey,  but ” 

“ Harvey  be  hanged  for  a pedant,  and  the  whole  crew  of 
versifiers,  from  Lord  Dorset  (but  he,  poor  man,  has  been  past 
hanging  some  time  since)  to  yourself ! Why  delude  you  into 
playing  Procrustes  as  he  does  with  the  queen’s  English,  racking 
one  word  till  its  joints  be  pulled  asunder,  and  squeezing  the 
next  all  a-heap  as  the  Inquisitors  do  heretics  in  their  banca 
cava  ? Out  upon  him  and  you,  and  Sidney,  and  the  whole  kin. 
You  have  not  made  a verse  among  you,  and  never  will,  which 
is  not  as  lame  a gosling  as  Harvey’s  own — 

* Oh  thou  weatliercocke,  that  stands  on  the  top  of  Allhallows, 

Come  thy  ways  down,  if  thou  dar’st  for  thy  crown,  and  take  the  wall 
on  us.’ 

“ Hark,  now  ! There  is  our  young  giant  comforting  his  soul 
with  a ballad.  You  will  hear  rhyme  and  reason  together  here, 
now.  He  will  not  miscall  ‘blind-folded,’  ‘ blind -fold- ed,  I 
warrant;  or  make  an  ‘of’  and  a ‘which’  and  a ‘his’  carry  a 
whole  verse  on  their  wretched  little  backs.” 

And  as  he  spoke,  Amyas,  who  had  been  grumbling  to  him- 
self some  Christmas  carol,  broke  out  full-mouthed  : — 

“ As  Joseph  was  a- walking 
He  heard  an  angel  sing — 

‘ This  night  shall  be  the  birth  night 
Of  Christ,  our  heavenly  King. 


1 Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  distich  is  Spenser’s  own  ; and  the  othet 
hexameters  are  all  authentic. 


CHAP.  IX.] 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


181 


His  birthbed  shall  be  neither 
In  housen  nor  in  hall, 

Nor  in  the  place  of  paradise, 

But  in  the  oxen’s  stall. 

He  neither  shall  be  rocked 
In  silver  nor  in  gold, 

But  in  the  wooden  manger 
That  lieth  on  the  mould. 

He  neither  shall  be  w ashen 
With  white  wine  nor  with  red, 

But  with  the  fair  spring  water 
That  on  you  shall  be  shed. 

He  neither  shall  be  clothed 
In  purple  nor  in  pall, 

But  in  the  fair  white  linen 
That  usen  babies  all.’ 

As  Joseph  was  a- walking 
Thus  did  the  angel  sing, 

And  Mary’s  Son  at  midnight 
Was  born  to  be  our  King. 

Then  be  you  glad,  good  people, 

At  this  time  of  the  year  ; 

And  light  you  up  your  candles, 

For  His  star  it  shineth  clear.” 

“ There,  Edmunde  Classicaster,”  said  Raleigh,  “ does  not 
that  simple  strain  go  nearer  to  the  heart  of  him  who  wrote 
‘ The  Shepherd’s  Calendar,’  than  all  artificial  and  outlandish 

‘ Wote  ye  why  his  mother  with  a veil  hath  covered  his  face  ?’ 

Why  dost  not  answer,  man'?” 

But  Spenser  was  silent  awhile,  and  then, — 

“Because  I was  thinking  rather  of  the  rhymer  than  the 
rhyme.  Good  heaven  ! how  that  brave  lad  shames  me,  singing 
here  the  hymns  which  his  mother  taught  him,  before  the  very 
muzzles  of  Spanish  guns ; instead  of  bewailing  unmanly,  as  I 
have  done,  the  love  which  he  held,  I doubt  not,  as  dear  as  I 
did  even  my  Rosalind.  This  is  his  welcome  to  the  winter’s 
storm ; while  I,  who  dream,  forsooth,  of  heavenly  inspiration, 
can  but  see  therein  an  image  of  mine  own  cowardly  despair. 

* Thou  barren  ground,  whom  Winter’s  wrath  has  wasted, 

Art  made  a mirror  to  behold  my  plight.  ’ 1 

Pah  ! away  with  frosts,  icicles,  and  tears,  and  sighs ” 

“ And  with  hexameters  and  trimeters  too,  I hope,”  inter- 
rupted Raleigh  : “ and  all  the  trickeries  of  self-pleasing  sorrow.” 

1 “The  Shepherd’s  Calendar.” 


182 


IIOW  AMYAS  KEPT  [chap.  ix. 

■I  will  set  my  heart  to  higher  work,  than  barking  at 
the  hand  which  chastens  me.” 

“Wilt  put  the  lad  into  the  ‘Fairy  Queen,’  then,  by  my  side? 
He  deserves  as  good  a place  there,  believe  me,  as  ever  a Guyon, 
or  even  as  Lord  Grey  your  Arthegall.  Let  us  hail  him.  Hallo ! 
young  chanticleer  of  Devon  ! Art  not  afraid  of  a chance  shot, 
that  thou  crowest  so  lustily  upon  thine  own  mixen  ?” 

“ Cocks  crow  all  night  long  at  Christmas,  Captain  Ealeigh, 
and  so  do  I,”  said  Amyas’s  cheerful  voice;  “but  who’s  there 
with  you?” 

“A  penitent  pupil  of  yours — Mr.  Secretary  Spenser.” 

“ Pupil  of  mine?”  said  Amyas.  “I  wish  he’d  teach  me  a 
little  of  his  art ; I could  fill  up  my  time  here  with  making 
verses.” 

“And  who  would  be  your  theme,  fair  sir?”  said  Spenser. 
“No  ‘who’  at  all.  I don’t  want  to  make  sonnets  to  blue 
eyes,  nor  black  either : but  if  I could  put  down  some  of  the 

things  I saw  in  the  Spice  Islands ” 

“Ah,”  said  Ealeigh,  “he  would  beat,  you  out  of  Parnassus, 
Mr.  Secretary.  Eemember,  you  may  write  about  Fairyland, 
but  he  has  seen  it.” 

“ And  so  have  others,”  said  Spenser  ; “ it  is  not  so  far  off 
from  any  one  of  us.  Wherever  is  love  and  loyalty,  great  pur- 
poses, and  lofty  souls,  even  though  in  a hovel  or  a mine,  there 
is  Fairyland.” 

“Then  Fairyland  should  be  here,  friend;  for  you  represent 
love,  and  Leigh  loyalty  ; while,  as  for  great  purposes  and  lofty 
souls,  who  so  fit  to  stand  for  them  as  I,  being  (unless  my  enemies 
and  my  conscience  are  liars  both)  as  ambitious  and  as  proud  as 
Lucifer’s  own  self?” 

“Ah,  Walter,  Walter,  why  wilt  always  slander  thyself  thus?” 
“ Slander?  Tut.— I do  but  give  the  world  a fair  challenge, 
and  tell  it,  ‘ There — you  know  the  worst  of  me  : come  on  and 
try  a fall,  for  either  you  or  I must  down.’  Slander  ? Ask  Leigh 
here,  who  has  but  known  me  a fortnight,  whether  I am  not  as 
vain  as  a peacock,  as  selfish  as  a fox,  as  imperious  as  a bona  roba, 
and  ready  to  make  a cat’s  paw  of  him  or  any  man,  if  there  be  a 
chestnut  in  the  fire  : and  yet  the  poor  fool  cannot  help  loving 
me,  and  running  of  my  errands,  and  taking  all  my  schemes  and 
my  dreams  for  gospel ; and  verily  believes  now,  I think,  that  I 
shall  be  the  man  in  the  moon  some  day,  and  he  my  big  dog.” 

“ Well,”  said  Amyas,  half  apologetically,  “ if  you  are  the 
cleverest  man  in  the  world  what  harm  in  my  thinking  so  ?” 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


183 


CHAP.  IX.] 

“ Hearken  to  him,  Edmund  ! He  will  know  better  when 
he  has  outgrown  this  same  callow  trick  of  honesty,  and  learnt 
of  the  great  goddess  Detraction  how  to  show  himself  wiser  than 
the  wise,  by  pointing  out  to  the  world  the  fool’s  motley  which, 
peeps  through  the  rents  in  the  philosopher’s  cloak.  Go  to,  lad ! 
slander  thy  equals,  envy  thy  betters,  pray  for  an  eye  which  sees 
spots  in  every  sun,  and  for  a vulture’s  nose  to  scent  carrion  in 
every  rose-bed.  If  thy  friend  win  a battle,  show  that  he  has 
needlessly  thrown  away  his  men ; if  he  lose  one,  hint  that  he 
sold  it ; if  he  rise  to  a place  argue  favour ; if  he  fall  from  one, 
argue  divine  justice.  Believe  nothing,  hope  nothing,  but  en- 
dure all  things,  even  to  kicking,  if  aught  may  be  got  thereby ; 
so  shalt  thou  be  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  sit  in  king’s 
palaces,  and  fare  sumptuously  every  day.” 

“And  wake  with  Dives  in  the  torment,”  said  Amyas. 
“Thank  you  for  nothing,  Captain.” 

“ Go  to,  Misanthropos,”  said  Spenser.  “ Thou  hast  not  yet 
tasted  the  sweets  of  this  world’s  comfits,  and  thou  railest  at 
them  V ’ 

“ The  grapes  are  sour,  lad.” 

“ And  will  be  to  the  end,”  said  Amyas,  “ if  they  come  off 
such  a devil’s  tree  as  that.  I really  think  you  are  out  of  your 
mind,  Captain  Raleigh,  at  times.” 

“ I wish  I were ; for  it  is  a troublesome,  hungry,  windy 
mind  as  man  ever  was  cursed  withal.  But  come  in,  lad.  We 
were  sent  from  the  Lord  Deputy  to  bid  thee  to  supper.  There 
is  a dainty  lump  of  dead  horse  waiting  for  thee.” 

“Send  me  some  out,  then,”  said  matter-of-fact  Amyas. 
“ And  tell  his  Lordship  that,  with  his  good  leave,  I don’t  stir 
from  here  till  morning,  if  I can  keep  awake.  There  is  a stir  in 
the  fort,  and  I expect  them  out  on  us.” 

“ Tut,  man  ! their  hearts  are  broken.  We  know  it  by  their 
deserters.” 

“Seeing’s  believing.  I never  trust  runaway  rogues.  If 
they  are  false  to  their  masters,  they’ll  be  false  to  us.” 

“ Well,  go  thy  ways,  old  honesty  ; and  Mr.  Secretary  shall 
give  you  a book  to  yourself  in  the  ‘ Fairy  Queen  ’ — ‘ Sir  Mono- 
culus  or  the  Legend  of  Common  Sense,’  eh,  Edmund  ?” 

“ Monoculus  V ’ 

“Ay,  Single-eye,  my  prince  of  word-coiners — won’t  that  fit? 
— And  give  him  the  Cyclop’s  head  for  a device.  Heigho  ! 
They  may  laugh  that  win.  I am  sick  of  this  Irish  work  ; were 
it  not  for  the  chance  of  advancement  I’d  sooner  be  driving  a 


184 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[chap.  ix. 

team  of  red  Devons  on  Dartside ; and  now  I am  angry  with 
the  dear  lad  because  he  is  not  sick  of  it  too.  What  a plague 
business  has  he  to  be  paddling  up  and  down,  contentedly  doing 
his  duty,  like  any  city  watchman?  It  is  an  insult  to  the  mighty 
aspirations  of  our  nobler  hearts, — eh,  my  would-be  Ariosto  ?” 

“ Ah,  Raleigh  ! you  can  afford  to  confess  yourself  less  than 
some,  for  you  are  greater  than  all.  Go  on  and  conquer,  noble 
heart ! But  as  for  me,  I sow  the  wind,  and  I suppose  I shall 
reap  the  whirlwind” 

11  Your  harvest  seems  come  already ; what  a blast  that 
was  ! Hold  on  by  me,  Colin  Clout,  and  I’ll  hold  on  by  thee. 
So  ! Don’t  tread  on  that  pikqman’s  stomach,  lest  he  take  thee 
for  a marauding  Don,  and  with  sudden  dagger  slit  Colin’s  pipe, 
and  Colin’s  weasand  too.” 

And  the  two  stumbled  away  into  the  darkness,  leaving 
Amyas  to  stride  up  and  down  as  before,  puzzling  his  brains 
over  Raleigh’s  wild  words  and  Spenser’s  melancholy,  till  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  some  mysterious  connec- 
tion between  cleverness  and  unhappiness,  and  thanking  his 
stars  that  he  was  neither  scholar,  courtier,  nor  poet,  said  grace 
over  his  lump  of  horseflesh  when  it  arrived,  devoured  it  as  if  it 
had  been  venison,  and  then  returned  to  his  pacing  up  and 
down  ; but  this  time  in  silence,  for  the  night  was  drawing  on, 
and  there  was  no  need  to  tell  the  Spaniards  that  any  one  was 
awake  and  watching. 

So  he  began  to  think  about  his  mother,  and  how  she  might 
be  spending  her  Christmas  ; and  then  about  Frank,  and  won- 
dered at  what  grand  Court  festival  he  was  assisting,  amid 
bright  lights  and  sweet  music  and  gay  ladies,  and  how  he  was 
dressed,  and  whether  he  thought  of  his  brother  there  far  away 
on  the  dark  Atlantic  shore ; and  then  he  said  his  prayers  and 
his  creed ; and  then  he  tried  not  to  think  of  Rose  Salterne,  and 
of  course  thought  about  her  all  the  more.  So  on  passed  the 
dull  hours,  till  it  might  be  past  eleven  o’clock,  and  all  lights 
were  out  in  the  battery  and  the  shipping,  and  there  was  no 
sound  of  living  thing  but  the  monotonous  tramp  of  the  two 
sentinels  beside  him,  and  now  and  then  a grunt  from  the  party 
who  slept  under  arms  some  twenty  yards  to  the  rear. 

So  he  paced  to  and  fro,  looking  carefully  out  now  and  then 
over  the  strip  of  sand-hill  which  lay  between  him  and  the  fort ; 
but  all  was  blank  and  black,  and  moreover  it  began  to  rain 
furiously. 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  hear  a rustle  among  the  harsh 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


185 


CHAP.  IX.  ] 

sand-grass.  True,  the  wind  was  whistling  through  it  loudly 
enough  : but  that  sound  was  not  altogether  like  the  wind. 
Then  a soft  sliding  noise  ; something  had  slipped  down  a bank, 
and  brought  the  sand  down  after  it.  Amyas  stopped,  crouched 
down  beside  a gun,  and  laid  his  ear  to  the  rampart,  whereby 
he  heard  clearly,  as  he  thought,  the  noise  of  approaching  feet ; 
whether  rabbits  or  Christians,  he  knew  not : but  he  shrewdly 
guessed  the  latter. 

Now  Amyas  was  of  a sober  and  business-like  turn,  at  least 
when  he  was  not  in  a passion ; and  thinking  within  himself 
that  if  he  made  any  noise,  the  enemy  (whether  four  or  two- 
legged)  would  retire,  and  all  the  sport  be  lost,  he  did  not  call 
to  the  two  sentries,  who  were  at  the  opposite  ends  of  the 
battery  ; neither  did  he  think  it  worth  while  to  rouse  the  sleep- 
ing company,  lest  his  ears  should  have  deceived  him,  and  the 
whole  camp  turn  out  to  repulse  the  attack  of  a buck  rabbit. 
So  he  crouched  lower  and  lower  beside  the  culverin,  and  was 
rewarded  in  a minute  or  two  by  hearing  something  gently 
deposited  against  the  mouth  of  the  embrasure,  which,  by  the 
noise,  should  be  a piece  of  timber. 

“ So  far,  so  good,”  said  he  to  himself ; “ when  the  scaling 
ladder  is  up,  the  soldier  follows,  I suppose.  I can  only  humbly 
thank  them  for  giving  my  embrasure  the  preference.  There  he 
conies  ! I hear  his  feet  scuffling.” 

He  could  hear  plainly  enough  some  one  working  himself 
into  the  mouth  of  the  embrasure  : but  the  plague  was,  that  it 
was  so  dark  that  he  could  not  see  his  hand  between  him  and 
the  sky,  much  less  his  foe  at  two  yards  off.  However,  he 
made  a pretty  fair  guess  as  to  the  whereabouts,  and,  rising 
softly,  discharged  such  a blow  downwards  as  would  have  split 
a yule  log.  A volley  of  sparks  flew  up  from  the  hapless 
Spaniard’s  armour,  and  a grunt  issued  from  within  it,  which 
proved  that,  whether  he  was  killed  or  not,  the  blow  had  not 
improved  his  respiration. 

Amyas  felt  for  his  head,  seized  it,  dragged  him  in  over  the 
gun,  sprang  into  the  embrasure  on  his  knees,  felt  for  the  top  of 
the  ladder,  found  it,  hove  it  clean  off  and  out,  with  four  or  five 
men  on  it,  and  then  of  course  tumbled  after  it  ten  feet  into  the 
sand,  roaring  like  a town  bull  to  her  Majesty’s  liege  subjects 
in  general. 

Sailor-fashion,  he  had  no  armour  on  but  a light  morion  and 
a cuirass,  so  he  was  not  too  much  encumbered  to  prevent  his 
springing  to  his  legs  instantly,  and  setting  to  work,  cutting 


186 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[chap.  ix. 

and  foining  right  and  left  at  every  sound,  for  sight  there  was 
none. 

Battles  (as  soldiers  know,  and  newspaper  editors  do  not) 
are  usually  fought,  not  as  they  ought  to  be  fought,  but  as  they 
can  be  fought ; and  while  the  literary  man  is  laying  down  the 
law  at  his  desk  as  to  how  many  troops  should  be  moved  here, 
and  what  rivers  should  be  crossed  there,  and  where  the  cavalry 
should  have  been  brought  up,  and  when  the  flank  should  have 
been  turned,  the  wretched  man  who  has  to  do  the  work  finds 
the  matter  settled  for  him  by  pestilence,  want  of  shoes,  empty 
stomachs,  bad  roads,  heavy  rains,  hot  suns,  and  a thousand 
other  stern  warriors  who  never  show  on  paper. 

So  with  this  skirmish  ; “ according  to  Cocker,”  it  ought  to 
have  been  a very  pretty  one ; for  Hercules  of  Pisa,  who  planned 
the  sortie,  had  arranged  it  all  (being  a very  sans-appel  in  all 
military  science)  upon  the  best  Italian  precedents,  and  had 
brought  against  this  very  hapless  battery  a column  of  a hundred 
to  attack  directly  in  front,  a company  of  fifty  to  turn  the  right 
flank,  and  a company  of  fifty  to  turn  the  left  flank,  with  regu- 
lations, orders,  passwords,  countersigns,  and  what  not ; so  that 
if  every  man  had  had  his  rights  (as  seldom  happens),  Don 
Guzman  Maria  Magdalena1  de  Soto,  who  commanded  the  sortie, 
ought  to  have  taken  the  work  out  of  hand,  and  annihilated  all 
therein.  But  alas ! here  stern  fate  interfered.  They  had 
chosen  a dark  night,  as  was  politic ; they  had  waited  till  the 
moon  was  up,  lest  it  should  be  too  dark,  as  was  politic  like- 
wise : but,  just  as  they  had  started,  on  came  a heavy  squall  of 
rain,  through  which  seven  moons  would  have  given  no  light,  and 
which  washed  out  the  plans  of  Hercules  of  Pisa  as  if  they  had 
been  written  on  a schoolboy’s  slate.  The  company  who  were 
to  turn  the  left  flank  walked  manfully  down  into  the  sea,  and 
never  found  out  where  they  were  going  till  they  were  knee- 
deep  in  water.  The  company  who  were  to  turn  the  right  flank, 
bewildered  by  the  utter  darkness,  turned  their  own  flank  so 
often,  that  tired  of  falling  into  rabbit-burrows  and  filling  their 
mouths  with  sand,  they  halted  and  prayed  to  all  the  saints  for 
a compass  and  lantern;  while  the  centre  body,  who  held 
straight  on  by  a trackway  to  within  fifty  yards  of  the  battery, 
so  miscalculated  that  short  distance,  that  while  they  thought 
the  ditch  two  pikes’  length  off,  they  fell  into  it  one  over  the 
other,  and  of  six  scaling  ladders,  the  only  one  which  could  be 
found  was  the  very  one  which  Amyas  threw  down  again. 
After  which  the  clouds  broke,  the  wind  shifted,  and  the  moon 


CHAP.  IX.]  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  187 

shone  out  merrily.  And  so  was  the  deep  policy  of  Hercules  of 
Pisa,  on  which  hung  the  fate  of  Ireland  and  the  Papacy,  decided 
by  a ten  minutes’  squall. 

But  where  is  Amyas  1 

In  the  ditch,  aware  that  the  enemy  is  tumbling  into  it,  but 
unable  to  find  them ; while  the  company  above,  finding  it  much 
too  dark  to  attempt  a counter  sortie,  have  opened  a smart  fire 
of  musketry  and  arrows  on  things  in  general,  whereat  the 
Spaniards  are  swearing  like  Spaniards  (I  need  say  no  more),  and 
the  Italians  spitting  like  venomous  cats ; while  Amyas,  not 
wishing  to  be  riddled  by  friendly  balls,  has  got  his  back  against 
the  foot  of  the  rampart,  and  waits  on  Providence. 

Suddenly  the  moon  clears ; and  with  one  more  fierce  volley, 
the  English  sailors,  seeing  the  confusion,  leap  down  from  the 
embrasures,  and  to  it  pell-mell.  Whether  this  also  was 
“ according  to  Cocker,”  I know  not : but  the  sailor,  then  as 
now,  is  not  susceptible  of  highly-finished  drill. 

Amyas  is  now  in  his  element,  and  so  are  the  brave  fellows 
at  his  heels ; and  there  are  ten  breathless,  furious  minutes 
among  the  sand-hills  ; and  then  the  trumpets  blow  a recall,  and 
the  sailors  drop  back  again  by  twos  and  threes,  and  are  helped  up 
into  the  embrasures  over  many  a dead  and  dying  foe ; while  the 
guns  of  Fort  del  Oro  open  on  them,  and  blaze  away  for  half-an- 
hour  without  reply ; and  then  all  is  still  once  more.  And  in 
the  meanwhile,  the  sortie  against  the  Deputy’s  camp  has  fared 
no  better,  and  the  victory  of  the  night  remains  with  the  English. 

Twenty  minutes  after,  Winter  and  the  captains  who  were 
on  shore  were  drying  themselves  round  a peat-fire  on  the  beach, 
and  talking  over  the  skirmish,  when  Will  Cary  asked — 

“ Where  is  Leigh  'l  who  has  seen  him  ? I am  sadly  afraid 
he  has  gone  too  far,  and  been  slain.” 

“Slain  ? Never  less,  gentlemen  !”  replied  the  voice  of  the 
very  person  in  question,  as  he  stalked  out  of  the  darkness  into 
the  glare  of  the  fire,  and  shot  down  from  his  shoulders  into  the 
midst  of  the  ring,  as  he  might  a sack  of  corn,  a huge  dark  body, 
which  was  gradually  seen  to  be  a man  in  rich  armour ; who 
being  so  shot  down,  lay  quietly  where  he  was  dropped,  with  his 
feet  (luckily  for  him  mailed)  in  the  fire. 

“I  say,”  quoth  Amyas,  “some  of  you  had  better  take  him 
up,  if  he  is  to  be  of  any  use.  Unlace  his  helm,  Will  Cary.” 

“ Pull  his  feet  out  of  the  embers ; I dare  say  he  would  have 
been  glad  enough  to  put  us  to  the  scarpines  ■ but  that’s  no 
reason  we  should  put  him  to  them.” 


188 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[CHAP.  IX. 

As  has  been  hinted,  there  was  no  love  lost  between  Admiral 
Winter  and  Amyas ; and  Amyas  might  certainly  have  reported 
himself  in  a more  ceremonious  manner.  So  Winter,  whom 
Amyas  either  had  not  seen,  or  had  not  chosen  to  see,  asked  him 
pretty  sharply,  “ What  the  plague  he  had  to  do  with  bringing 
dead  men  into  camp  V* 

“ If  he’s  dead,  it’s  not  my  fault.  He  was  alive  enough  when 
I started  with  him,  and  I kept  him  right  end  uppermost  all  the 
way  ; and  what  would  you  have  more  sir  ?” 

“ Mr.  Leigh  !”  said  Winter,  “ it  behoves  you  to  speak  with 
somewhat  more  courtesy,  if  not  respect,  to  captains  who  are 
your  elders  and  commanders.” 

“Ask  your  pardon,  sir,”  said  the  giant,  as  he  stood  in  front 
of  the  fire  with  the  rain  steaming  and  smoking  off  his  armour ; 
“ but  I was  bred  in  a school  where  getting  good  service  done 
was  more  esteemed  than  making  fine  speeches.” 

“ Whatsoever  school  you  were  trained  in,  sir,”  said  Winter, 
nettled  at  the  hint  about  Drake ; “ it  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  one  in  which  you  learned  to  obey  orders.  Why  did  you 
not  come  in  when  the  recall  was  sounded  1” 

“ Because,”  said  Amyas,  very  coolly,  “ in  the  first  place,  I 
did  not  hear  it ; and  in  the  next,  in  my  school  I was  taught 
when  I had  once  started  not  to  come  home  empty-handed.” 

This  was  too  pointed ; and  Winter  sprang  up  with  an  oath 
— “ Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  sir  ?” 

“Iam  sorry,  sir,  that  you  should  take  a compliment  to  Sir 
Francis  Drake  as  an  insult  to  yourself.  I brought  in  this 
gentleman  because  I thought  he  might  give  you  good  informa- 
tion ; if  he  dies  meanwhile,  the  loss  will  be  yours,  or  rather  the 
queen’s.” 

“ Help  me,  then,”  said  Cary,  glad  to  create  a diversion  in 
Amyas’s  favour,  “and  we  will  bring  him  round  while  Raleigh 
rose,  and  catching  Winter’s  arm,  drew  him  aside,  and  began 
talking  earnestly. 

“ What  a murrain  have  you,  Leigh,  to  quarrel  with  Winter  V’ 
asked  two  or  three. 

“ I say,  my  reverend  fathers  and  dear  children,  do  get  the 
Don’s  talking  tackle  free  again,  and  leave  me  and  the  Admiral 
to  settle  it  our  own  way.” 

There  was  more  than  one  captain  sitting  in  the  ring : but 
discipline,  and  the  degrees  of  rank,  were  not  so  severely  defined 
as  now;  and  Amyas,  as  a “gentleman  adventurer,”  was,  on 
land,  in  a .position  very  difficult  to  be  settled,  though  at  sea  he 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


189 


CHAP.  IX.] 

was  as  liable  to  be  hanged  as  any  other  person  on  board ; and 
on  the  whole  it  was  found  expedient  to  patch  the  matter  up. 
So  Captain  Raleigh  returning,  said  that  though  Admiral  Winter 
had  doubtless  taken  umbrage  at  certain  words  of  Mr.  Leigh’s, 
yet  that  he  had  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Leigh  meant  nothing  thereby 
but  what  was  consistent  with  the  profession  of  a soldier  and  a 
gentleman,  and  worthy  both  of  himself  and  of  the  Admiral. 

From  which  proposition  Amyas  found  it  impossible  to  dis- 
sent ; whereon  Raleigh  went  back,  and  informed  Winter  that 
Leigh  had  freely  retracted  his  words,  and  fully  wiped  off  any 
imputation  which  Mr.  Winter  might  conceive  to  have  been  put 
upon  him,  and  so  forth.  So  Winter  returned,  and  Amyas  said 
frankly  enough — 

“ Admiral  Winter,  I hope,  as  a loyal  soldier,  that  you  wdll 
understand  thus  far ; that  naught  which  has  passed  to-night 
shall  in  any  way  prevent  you  finding  me  a forward  and  obedient 
servant  to  all  your  commands,  be  they  what  they  may,  and  a 
supporter  of  your  authority  among  the  men,  and  honour  against 
the  foe,  even  with  my  life.  For  I should  be  ashamed  if  private 
differences  should  ever  prejudice  by  a grain  the  public  weal.” 
This  was  a great  effort  of  oratory  for  Amyas  ; and  he  there- 
fore, in  order  to  be  safe  by  following  precedent,  tried  to  talk  as 
much  as  he  could  like  Sir  Richard  Grenvile.  Of  course  Winter 
could  answer  nothing  to  it,  in  spite  of  the  plain  hint  of  private 
differences,  but  that  he  should  not  fail  to  show  himself  a captain 
worthy  of  so  valiant  and  trusty  a gentleman;  whereon  the  whole 
party  turned  their  attention  to  the  captive,  who,  thanks  to  Will 
Cary,  was  by  this  time  sitting  up,  standing  much  in  need  of  a 
handkerchief,  and  looking  about  him,  having  been  unhelmed,  in 
a confused  and  doleful  manner. 

“ Take  the  gentleman  to  my  tent,”  said  Winter,  “ and  let 

the  surgeon  see  to  him.  Mr.  Leigh,  who  is  he  ? ” 

“ An  enemy,  but  whether  Spaniard  or  Italian  I know  not ; 
but  he  seemed  somebody  among  them,  I thought  the  captain  of 
a company.  He  and  I cut  at  each  other  twice  or  thrice  at  first, 
and  then  lost  each  other ; and  after  that  I came  on  him  among 
the  sand-hills,  trying  to  rally  his  men,  and  swearing  like  the 
mouth  of  the  pit,  whereby  I guess  him  a Spaniard.  But  his 
men  ran  ; so  I brought  him  in.” 

“ And  how  ?”  asked  Raleigh.  “ Thou  art  giving  us  all  the 
play  but  the  murders  and  the  marriages.” 

“ Why,  I bid  him  yield,  and  he  would  not.  Then  I bid  him 
run,  and  he  would  not.  And  it  was  too  pitch-dark  for  fighting ; 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


190 


[CHAP.  IX. 


so  I took  him  by  the  ears,  and  shook  the  wind  out  of  him,  and 
so  brought  him  in.” 

“Shook  the  wind  out  of  him1?”  cried  Cary,  amid  the  roar 
of  laughter  which  followed.  “Dost  know  thou  hast  nearly 
wrung  his  neck  in  two  1 His  vizor  was  full  of  blood.” 

“ He  should  have  run  or  yielded,  then,”  said  Amyas ; and 
getting  up,  slipped  off  to  find  some  ale,  and  then  to  sleep  comfort- 
ably in  a dry  burrow  which  he  scratched  out  of  a sandbank. 

The  next  morning,  as  Amyas  was  discussing  a scanty  break- 
fast of  biscuit  (for  provisions  were  running  very  short  in  camp) 
Raleigh  came  up  to  him. 

“What,  eating1?  That’s  more  than  I have  done  to-day.” 

“ Sit  down,  and  share,  then.” 

“ Nay,  lad,  I did  not  come  a-begging  I have  set  some  of 
my  rogues  to  dig  rabbits ; but  as  I live,  young  Colbrand,  you 
may  thank  your  stars  that  you  are  alive  to-day  to  eat.  Poor 
young  Cheek — Sir  John  Cheek,  the  grammarian’s  son — got  his 
quittance  last  night  by  a Spanish  pike,  rushing  headlong  on, 
just  as  you  did.  But  have  you  seen  your  prisoner?” 

“ No  ; nor  shall,  while  he  is  in  Winter’s  tent.” 

“ Why  not,  then  ? What  quarrel  have  you  against  the 
Admiral,  friend  Bobadil?  Cannot  you  let  Francis  Drake  fight 
his  own  battles,  without  thrusting  your  head  in  between  them  ?” 

“Well,  that  is  good!  As  if  the  quarrel  was  not  just  as 
much  mine,  and  every  man’s  in  the  ship.  Why,  when  he  left 
Drake,  he  left  us  all,  did  he  not  ?” 

“ And  what  if  he  did  ? Let  bygones  be  bygones  is  the  rule 
of  a Christian,  and  of  a wise  man  too,  Amyas.  Here  the  man 
is,  at  least,  safe  home,  in  favour  and  in  power ; and  a prudent 
youth  will  just  hold  his  tongue,  mumchanoe,  and  swim  with 
the  stream.” 

“ But  that’s  just  what  makes  me  mad ; to  see  this  fellow, 
after  deserting  us  there  in  unknown  seas,  win  credit  and  rank  at 
home  here  for  being  the  first  man  who  ever  sailed  back  through 
the  Straits.  What  had  he  to  do  with  sailing  back  at  all ! As 
well  make  the  fox  a knight  for  being  the  first  that  ever  jumped 
down  a jakes  to  escape  the  hounds.  The  fiercer  the  flight  the 
fouler  the  fear,  say  I.” 

“ Amyas  ! Amyas  ! thou  art  a hard  hitter,  but  a soft  poli- 
tician.” 

“ I am  no  politician,  Captain  Raleigh,  nor  ever  wish  to  be. 
An  honest  man’s  my  friend,  and  a rogue’s  my  foe  j and  I’ll  tell 
both  as  much,  as  long  as  I breathe.” 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


191 


CHAP.  IX.] 

“ And  die  a poor  saint,”  said  Raleigh,  laughing.  “ But  if 
Winter  invites  you  to  his  tent  himself, you  won’t  refuse  to  come'?” 

“ Why,  no,  considering  his  years  and  rank ; but  he  knows 
too  well  to  do  that.” 

“ He  knows  too  well  not  to  do  it,”  said  Raleigh,  laughing  as 
he  walked  away.  And  verily  in  half-an-hour  came  an  invitation, 
extracted,  of  course,  from  the  Admiral  by  Raleigh’s  silver  tongue, 
which  Amy  as  could  not  but  obey. 

“ We  all  owe  you  thanks  for  last  night’s  service,  sir,”  said 
Winter,  who  had  for  some  good  reasons  changed  his  tone.  “ Your 
prisoner  is  found  to  be  a gentleman  of  birth  and  experience,  and 
the  leader  of  the  assault  last  night.  He  has  already  told  us 
more  than  we  had  hoped,  for  which  also  we  are  beholden  to  you ; 
and,  indeed  my  Lord  Grey  has  been  asking  for  you  already.” 

“ I have,  young  sir,”  said  a quiet  and  lofty  voice ; and 
Amyas  saw  limping  from  the  inner  tent  the  proud  and  stately 
figure  of  the  stern  Deputy,  Lord  Grey  of  Wilton,  a brave  and 
wise  man,  but  with  a naturally  harsh  temper,  which  had  been 
soured  still  more  by  the  wound  which  had  crippled  him,  while 
yet  a boy,  at  the  battle  of  Leith.  He  owed  that  limp  to  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  ; and  he  did  not  forget  the  debt. 

“ I have  been  asking  for  you ; having  heard  from  many, 
both  of  your  last  night’s  prowess,  and  of  your  conduct  and  cour- 
age beyond  the  promise  of  your  years,  displayed  in  that  ever- 
memorable  voyage,  which  may  well  be  ranked  with  the  deeds 
of  the  ancient  Argonauts.” 

Amyas  bowed  low ; and  the  Lord  Deputy  went  on,  “ You 
will  needs  wish  to  see  your  prisoner.  You  will  find  him  such 
a one  as  you  need  not  be  ashamed  to  have  taken,  and  as  need 
not  be  ashamed  to  have  been  taken  by  you : but  here  he  is,  and 
will,  I doubt  not,  answer  as  much  for  himself.  Know  each 
other  better,  gentlemen  both  : last  night  was  an  ill  one  for 
making  acquaintances.  Don  Guzman  Maria  Magdalena  Soto- 
mayor  de  Soto,  know  the  hidalgo,  Amyas  Leigh  ! ” 

As  he  spoke,  the  Spaniard  came  forward,  still  in  his  armour, 
all  save  his  head,  which  was  bound  up  in  a handkerchief. 

He  was  an  exceedingly  tall  and  graceful  personage,  of  that 
sangre  azul  which  marked  high  Yisi- gothic  descent ; golden- 
haired and  fair- skinned,  with  hands  as  small  and  white  as  a 
woman’s ; his  lips  were  delicate,  but  thin,  and  compressed 
closely  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth  ; and  his  pale  blue  eye  had 
a glassy  dulness.  In  spite  of  his  beauty  and  his  oarriage,  Amyas 
shrank  from  him  instinctively  • and  yet  he  could  not  help  hold- 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


192 


[CHAP.  IX. 


mg  out  his  hand  in  return,  as  the  Spaniard  holding  out  his,  said 
languidly,  in  most  sweet  and  sonorous  Spanish — 

“ I kiss  his  hands  and  feet.  The  Seiner  speaks,  I am  told, 
my  native  tongue  ?” 

“ I have  that  honour.” 

“ Then  accept  in  it  (for  I can  better  express  myself  therein 
than  in  English,  though  I am  not  altogether  ignorant  of  that 
witty  and  learned  language)  the  expression  of  my  pleasure  at 
having  fallen  into  the  hands  of  one  so  renowned  in  war  and 
travel ; and  of  one  also,”  he  added,  glancing  at  Amyas’s  giant 
bulk,  “ the  vastness  of  whose  strength,  beyond  that  of  common 
mortality,  makes  it  no  more  shame  for  me  to  have  been  over- 
powered and  carried  away  by  him  than  if  my  captor  had  been 
a paladin  of  Charlemagne’s.” 

Honest  Amyas  bowed  and  stammered,  a little  thrown  off 
his  balance  by  the  unexpected  assurance  and  cool  flattery  of  his 
prisoner ; but  he  said, — 

“ If  you  are  satisfied,  illustrious  Senor,  I am  bound  to  be 
so.  I only  trust,  that  in  my  hurry  and  the  darkness,  I have 
not  hurt  you  unnecessarily.” 

The  Don  laughed  a pretty  little  hollow  laugh  : “ No,  kind 
Senor,  my  head,  I trust,  will  after  a few  days  have  become 
united  to  my  shoulders  \ and,  for  the  present,  your  company 
will  make  me  forget  any  slight  discomfort.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Senor ; but  by  this  daylight  I should  have 
seen  that  armour  before.” 

“I  doubt  it  not,  Senor,  as  having  been  yourself  also  in 
the  forefront  of  the  battle,”  said  the  Spaniard,  with  a proud 
smile. 

“If  I am  right,  Senor,  you  are  he  who  yesterday  held  up 
the  standard  after  it  was  shot  down.” 

“ I do  not  deny  that  undeserved  honour ; and  I have  to 
thank  the  courtesy  of  you  and  your  countrymen  for  having  per- 
mitted me  to  do  so  with  impunity.” 

“Ah,  I heard  of  that  brave  feat,”  said  the  Lord  Deputy. 
“ You  should  consider  yourself,  Mr.  Leigh,  honoured  by  being 
enabled  to  show  courtesy  to  such  a warrior.” 

How  long  this  interchange  of  solemn  compliments,  of  which 
Amyas  was  getting  somewhat  weary,  would  have  gone  on,  I 
know  not : but  at  that  moment  Raleigh  entered  hastily — 

“ My  Lord,  they  have  hung  out  a white  flag,  and  are  calling 
for  a parley  !” 

The  Spaniard  turned  pale,  and  felt  for  his  sword,  which 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


CHAP.  IX.] 


193 


was  gone ; and  then,  with  a bitter  laugh,  murmured  to  himself 
— “As  I expected.” 

“I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it.  Would  to  Heaven  they  had 
simply  fought  it  out!”  said  Lord  Grey  half  to  himself;  and 
then,  “ Go,  Captain  Raleigh,  and  answer  them  that  (saving  this 
gentleman’s  presence)  the  laws  of  war  forbid  a parley  with  any 
who  are  leagued  with  rebels  against  their  lawful  sovereign.” 
“But  what  if  they  wish  to  treat  for  this  gentleman’s  ransom 
“ For  their  own,  more  likely,”  said  the  Spaniard ; “ but 
tell  them,  on  my  part,  Senor,  that  Don  Guzman  refuses  to  be 
ransomed  ; and  will  return  to  no  camp  where  the  commanding 
officer,  unable  to  infect  his  captains  with  his  own  cowardice, 
dishonours  them  against  their  will.” 

“You  speak  sharply,  Senor,”  said  Winter,  after  Raleigh 
had  gone  out. 

“ I have  reason,  Senor  Admiral,  as  you  will  find,  I fear,  ere 
long.” 

“We  shall  have  the  honour  of  leaving  you  here,  for  the 
present,  sir,  as  Admiral  Winter’s  guest,”  said  the  Lord  Deputy. 
“ But  not  my  sword,  it  seems.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Senor ; but  no  one  has  deprived  you  of  your 
sword,”  said  Winter. 

“ I don’t  wish  to  pain  you,  sir,”  said  Amyas,  “ but  I fear 
that  we  were  both  careless  enough  to  leave  it  behind  last  night.” 
A flash  passed  over  the  Spaniard’s  face,  wThich  disclosed 
terrible  depths  of  fury  and  hatred  beneath  that  quiet  mask,  as 
the  summer  lightning  displays  the  black  abysses  of  the  thunder- 
storm ; but  like  the  summer  lightning  it  passed  almost  unseen; 
and  blandly  as  ever,  he  answered — 

“ I can  forgive  you  for  such  a neglect,  most  valiant  sir, 
more  easily  than  I can  forgive  myself.  Farewell,  sir ! One 
who  has  lost  his  sword  is  no  fit  company  for  you.”  And  as 
Amyas  and  the  rest  departed  he  plunged  into  the  inner  tent, 
stamping  and  writhing,  gnawing  his  hands  with  rage  and  shame. 
As  Amyas  came  out  on  the  battery,  Yeo  hailed  him — 

“ Master  Amyas  ! Hillo,  sir  ! For  the  love  of  Heaven 
tell  me ! ” 

“ What  then  I” 

“ Is  his  Lordship  staunch  Will  he  do  the  Lord’s  wTork 
faithfully,  root  and  branch  : or  will  he  spare  the  Amalekites  V’ 
“ The  latter,  I think,  old  hip-and-thigh,”  said  Amyas,  hurry- 
ing forward  to  hear  the  news  from  Raleigh,  who  appeared  in 
sight  once  more. 


o 


194  HOW  AMYAS  KEPT  [ciiap.  ix. 

“ They  ask  to  depart  with  bag  and  baggage,”  said  he,  when 
he  came  up. 

“God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  they  carry  away  a 
straw  !”  said  Lord  Grey.  “ Make  short  work  of  it,  sir  !” 

“ I do  not  know  how  that  will  be,  my  Lord;  as  I came  up 
a captain  shouted  to  me  off  the  walls  that  there  were  mutineers  ; 
and,  denying  that  he  surrendered,  would  have  pulled  down  the 
flag  of  truce,  but  the  soldiers  beat  him  off.” 

“ A house  divided  against  itself  will  not  stand  long,  gentle- 
men. Tell  them  that  I give  no  conditions.  Let  them  lay 
down  their  arms,  and  trust  in  the  Bishop  of  Rome  who  sent 
them  hither,  and  may  come  to  save  them  if  he  wants  them. 
Gunners,  if  you  see  the  white  flag  go  down,  open  your  fire  in- 
stantly. Captain  Raleigh,  we  need  your  counsel  here.  Mr. 
Cary,  will  you  be  my  herald  this  time  V’ 

“ A better  Protestant  never  went  on  a pleasanter  errand, 
my  Lord.” 

So  Cary  w'ent,  and  then  ensued  an  argument,  as  to  what 
should  be  done  with  the  prisoners  in  case  of  a surrender. 

I cannot  tell  whether  my  Lord  Grey  meant,  by  offering 
conditions  which  the  Spaniards  would  not  accept,  to  force  them 
into  fighting  the  quarrel  out,  and  so  save  himself  the  responsi- 
bility of  deciding  on  their  fate ; or  whether  his  mere  natural 
stubbornness,  as  well  as  his  just  indignation,  drove  him  on  too 
far  to  retract : but  the  council  of  war  which  followed  was  both 
a sad  and  a stormy  one,  and  one  which  he  had  reason  to  regret 
to  his  dying  day.  What  was  to  be  done  with  the  enemy1? 
They  already  outnumbered  the  English ; and  some  fifteen  hun- 
dred of  Desmond’s  wild  Irish  hovered  in  the  forests  round, 
ready  to  side  with  the  winning  party,  or  even  to  attack  the 
English  at  the  least  sign  of  vacillation  or  fear.  They  could  not 
carry  the  Spaniards  away  with  them,  for  they  had  neither  ship- 
ping nor  food,  not  even  handcuffs  enough  for  them;  and  as 
Mackworth  told  Winter  when  he  proposed  it,  the  only  plan  was 
for  him  to  make  San  Josepho  a present  of  his  ships,  and  swim 
home  himself  as  he  could.  To  turn  loose  in  Ireland,  as  Captain 
Touch  urged,  on  the  other  hand,  seven  hundred  such  monsters 
of  lawlessness,  cruelty,  and  lust,  as  Spanish  and  Italian  con- 
dottieri  were  in  those  days,  was  as  fatal  to  their  own  safety  as 
cruel  to  the  wretched  Irish.  All  the  captains,  without  excep- 
tion, followed  on  the  same  side.  “ What  was  to  be  done,  then  ?” 
asked  Lord  Grey  impatiently.  “ Would  they  have  him  murder 
them  all  in  cold  blood  V 1 


CHAP.  IX.]  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  195 

And  for  a while  every  man,  knowing  that  it  must  come  to 
that,  and  yet  not  daring  to  say  it ; till  Sir  Warham  St.  Leger, 
the  Marshal  of  Munster,  spoke  out  stoutly — “ Foreigners  had 
been  scoffing  them  too  long  and  too  truly  with  waging  these 
Irish  wars  as  if  they  meant  to  keep  them  alive,  rather  than  end 
them.  Mercy  and  faith  to  every  Irishman  who  would  show 
mercy  and  faith,  was  his  motto  : but  to  invaders,  no  mercy. 
Ireland  was  England’s  vulnerable  point ; it  might  be  some  day 
her  ruin  ; a terrible  example  must  be  made  of  those  who  dare 
to  touch  the  sore.  Rather  pardon  the  Spaniards  for  landing  in 
the  Thames  than  in  Ireland!” — till  Lord  Grey  became  much 
excited,  and  turning  as  a last  hope  to  Raleigh,  asked  his  opinion  : 
but  Raleigh’s  silver  tongue  was  that  day  not  on  the  side  of 
indulgence.  He  skilfully  recapitulated  the  arguments  of  his 
fellow-captains,  improving  them  as  he  went  on,  till  each  worthy 
soldier  was  surprised  to  find  himself  so  much  wiser  a man  than 
he  had  thought ; and  finished  by  one  of  his  rapid  and  passionate 
perorations  upon  his  favourite  theme — the  West  Indian  cruelties 
of  the  Spaniards,  “.  . . . by  which  great  tracts  and  fair  coun- 
tries are  now  utterly  stripped  of  inhabitants  by  heavy  bondage 
and  torments  unspeakable.  Oh,  witless  Islanders  !”  said  he, 
apostrophising  the  Irish ; “ would  to  Heaven  that  you  were  here 
to  listen  to  me ! What  other  fate  awaits  you,  if  this  viper, 
which  you  are  so  ready  to  take  into  your  bosom,  should  be 
warmed  to  life,  but  to  groan  like  the  Indians,  slaves  to  the 
Spaniard;  but  to  perish  like  the  Indians,  by  heavy  burdens, 
cruel  chains,  plunder  and  ravishment ; scourged,  racked,  roasted, 
stabbed,  sawn  in  sunder,  cast  to  feed  the  dogs,  as  simple  and 
more  righteous  peoples  have  perished  ere  now  by  millions'? 
And  what  else,  I say,  had  been  the  fate  of  Ireland  had  this 
invasion  prospered,  which  God  has  now,  by  our  weak  hands, 
confounded  and  brought  to  nought  ? Shall  we  then  answer  it, 
my  Lord,  either  to  our  conscience,  our  God,  or  our  queen,  if 
we  shall  set  loose  men  (not  one  of  whom,  I warrant,  but  is 
stained  with  murder  on  murder)  to  go  and  fill  up  the  cup  of 
their  iniquity  among  these  silly  sheep  ? Have  not  their  native 
wolves,  their  barbarous  chieftains,  shorn,  peeled,  and  slaughtered 
them  enough  already,  but  we  must  add  this  pack  of  foreign 
wolves  to  the  number  of  their  tormentors,  and  fit  the  Desmond 
with  a bodyguard  of  seven,  yea,  seven  hundred  devils  worse 
than  himself1?  Nay,  rather  let  us  do  violence  to  our  own 
human  nature,  and  show  ourselves  in  appearance  rigorous,  that 
we  may  be  kind  indeed ; lest  while  we  presume  to  be  over- 


196 


HOW  AMY  AS  KEPT 


[chap.  ix. 

merciful  to  the  guilty,  we  prove  ourselves  to  be  over-cruel  to 
the  innocent.” 

“ Captain  Raleigh,  Captain  Raleigh,”  said  Lord  Grey,  “ the 
blood  of  these  men  be  on  your  head  !” 

“It  ill  befits  your  Lordship,”  answered  Raleigh,  “to  throw 
on  your  subordinates  the  blame  of  that  which  your  reason 
approves  as  necessary.” 

“I  should  have  thought,  sir,  that  one  so  noted  for  ambition 
as  Captain  Raleigh  would  have  been  more  careful  of  the  favour 
of  that  queen  for  whose  smiles  he  is  said  to  be  so  longing  a 
competitor.  If  you  have  not  yet  been  of  her  counsels,  sir,  I can 
tell  you  you  are  not  likely  to  be.  She  will  be  furious  when  she 
hears  of  this  cruelty.” 

Lord  Grey  had  lost  his  temper : but  Raleigh  kept  his,  and 
answered  quietly — 

“ Her  Majesty  shall  at  least  not  find  me  among  the  number 
of  those  who  prefer  her  favour  to  her  safety,  and  abuse  to  their 
own  profit  that  over-tenderness  and  mercifulness  of  heart  which 
is  the  only  blemish  (and  yet,  rather  like  a mole  on  a fair  cheek, 
but  a new  beauty)  in  her  manifold  perfections.” 

At  this  juncture  Cary  returned. 

“ My  Lord,”  said  he,  in  some  confusion,  “ I have  proposed 
your  terms ; but  the  captains  still  entreat  for  some  mitigation  ; 
and,  to  tell  you  truth,  one  of  them  has  insisted  on  accompanying 
me  hither  to  plead  his  cause  himself.” 

“ I will  not  see  him,  sir.  Who  is  he  V’ 

“ His  name  is  Sebastian  of  Modena,  my  Lord.” 

“ Sebastian  of  Modena  ? What  think  you,  gentlemen  ? 
May  we  make  an  exception  in  favour  of  so  famous  a soldier  ?” 

“ So  villanous  a cut-throat,”  said  Zouch  to  Raleigh,  under 
his  breath. 

All,  however,  w^ere  for  speaking  with  so  famous  a man ; and 
in  came,  in  full  armour,  a short,  bull-necked  Italian,  evidently 
of  immense  strength,  of  the  true  Csesar  Borgia  stamp. 

“Will  you  please  to  be  seated,  sir,”  said  Lord  Grey  coldly. 
“ I kiss  your  hands,  most  illustrious  : but  I do  not  sit  in  an 
enemy’s  camp.  Ha,  my  friend  Zouch  ! How  has  your  Signoria 
fared  since  we  fought  side  by  side  at  Lepanto  ? So  you  too 
are  here,  sitting  in  council  on  the  hanging  of  me.” 

“ What  is  your  errand,  sir  h Time  is  short,”  said  the  Lord 
Deputy. 

“ Corpo  di  Bacco  ! It  has  been  long  enough  all  the  morning, 
for  my  rascals  have  kept  me  and  my  friend  the  Colonel  Hercules 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


197 


CHAP.  IX.] 

(whom  you  know,  doubtless)  prisoners  in  our  tents  at  the  pike’s 
point.  My  Lord  Deputy,  I have  but  a few  words.  I shall  thank 
you  to  take  every  soldier  in  the  fort — Italian,  Spaniard,  and  Irish 
— and  hang  them  up  as  high  as  Hainan,  for  a set  of  mutinous 
cowards,  with  the  arch-traitor  San  Josepho  at  their  head.” 

“I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  offer,  sir,  and  shall  deliberate 
presently  as  to  whether  I shall  not  accept  it.” 

“ But  as  for  us  captains,  really  your  Excellency  must  consider 
that  we  are  gentlemen  born,  and  give  us  either  buena  querra, 
as  the  Spaniards  say,  or  a fair  chance  for  life ; and  so  to  my 
business.” 

“ Stay,  sir.  Answer  this  first.  Have  you  or  yours  any 
commission  to  show  either  from  the  King  of  Spain  or  any  other 
potentate  ?” 

“ Never  a one  but  the  cause  of  Heaven  and  our  own  swords. 
And  with  them,  my  Lord,  we  are  ready  to  meet  any  gentlemen 
of  your  camp,  man  to  man,  with  our  swords  only,  half-way 
between  your  leaguer  and  ours ; and  I doubt  not  that  your 
Lordship  will  see  fair  play.  Will  any  gentleman  accept  so  civil 
an  offer?  There  sits  a tall  youth  in  that  corner  who  would 
suit  me  very  well.  Will  any  fit  my  gallant  comrades  with  half- 
an-hour’s  punto  and  stoccado?” 

There  was  a silence,  all  looking  at  the  Lord  Deputy,  whose 
eyes  were  kindling  in  a very  ugly  way. 

“No  answer?  Then  I must  proceed  to  exhortation.  So  ! 
Will  that  be  sufficient  ?” 

And  walking  composedly  across  the  tent,  the  fearless  ruffian 
quietly  stooped  down,  and  smote  Amyas  Leigh  full  in  the  face. 

Up  sprang  Amyas,  heedless  of  all  the  august  assembly,  and 
with  a single  buffet  felled  him  to  the  earth. 

“Excellent!”  said  he,  risiug  unabashed.  “I  can  always 
trust  my  instinct.  I knew  the  moment  I saw  him  that  he  was 
a cavalier  worth  letting  blood.  Now,  sir,  your  sword  and  har- 
ness, and  I am  at  your  service  outside  !” 

The  solemn  and  sententious  Englishmen  were  altogether  taken 
aback  by  the  Italian’s  impudence;  but  Zoucli  settled  the  matter. 

“ Most  noble  Captain,  will  you  be  pleased  to  recollect  a 
certain  little  occurrence  at  Messina,  in  the  year  1575  ? For  if 
you  do  not,  I do ; and  beg  to  inform  this  gentleman  that  you 
are  unworthy  of  his  sword,  and  had  you,  unluckily  for  you,  been 
an  Englishman,  would  have  found  the  fashions  of  our  country 
so  different  from  your  own  that  you  would  have  been  then 
hanged,  sir,  and  probably  may  be  so  still.” 


198  HOW  AMYAS  KEPT  [chap.  ix. 

The  Italian’s  sword  flashed  out  in  a moment : but  Lord 
Grey  interfered. 

“ No  fighting  here,  gentlemen.  That  may  wait ; and,  what 
is  more,  shall  wait  till — Strike  their  swords  down,  Raleigh, 
Mackworth  ! Strike  their  swords  down  ! Colonel  Sebastian, 
you  will  be  pleased  to  return  as  you  came,  in  safety,  having  lost 
nothing,  as  (I  frankly  tell  you)  you  have  gained  nothing,  by  your 
wild  bearing  here.  We  shall  proceed  to  deliberate  on  your 
fate.” 

“ I trust,  my  Lord,”  said  Amyas,  “ that  you  will  spare  this 
braggart’s  life,  at  least  for  a day  or  two.  For  in  spite  of 
Captain  Zouch’s  warning,  I must  have  to  do  with  him  yet,  or 
my  cheek  will  rise  up  in  judgment  against  me  at  the  last  day.” 

“Well  spoken,  lad,”  said  the  Colonel  as  he  swung  out. 
“ So  ! worth  a reprieve,  by  this  sword,  to  have  one  more  rapier- 
rattle  before  the  gallows  ! Then  I take  back  no  further  answer, 
my  Lord  Deputy  ? Not  even  our  swords,  our  virgin  blades, 
Signor,  the  soldier’s  cherished  bride  ? Shall  we  go  forth  weep- 
ing widowers,  and  leave  to  strange  embrace  the  lovely  steel  ?” 

“ None,  sir,  by  heaven  !”  said  he,  waxing  wroth.  “ Do 
you  come  hither,  pirates  as  you  are,  to  dictate  terms  upon  a 
foreign  soil  ? Is  it  not  enough  to  have  set  up  here  the  Spanish 
flag,  and  claimed  the  land  of  Ireland  as  the  Pope’s  gift  to  the 
Spaniard ; violated  the  laws  of  nations,  and  the  solemn  treaties 
of  princes,  under  colour  of  a mad  superstition  V’ 

“ Superstition,  my  Lord  ? Nothing  less.  Believe  a philo- 
sopher who  has  not  said  a pater  or  an  ave  for  seven  years  past 
at  least.  Quod  tango  credo , is  my  motto  ; and  though  I am 
bound  to  say,  under  pain  of  the  Inquisition,  that  the  most  holy 
Father  the  Pope  has  given  this  land  of  Ireland  to  his  most 
Catholic  Majesty  the  King  of  Spain,  Queen  Elizabeth  having 
forfeited  her  title  to  it  by  heresy, — why,  my  Lord,  I believe  it 
as  little  as  you  do.  I believe  that  Ireland  would  have  been 
mine,  if  I had  won  it ; I believe  religiously  that  it  is  not  mine, 
now  I have  lost  it.  What  is,  is,  and  a fig  for  priests ; to-day 
to  thee,  to-morrow  to  me.  Addio,” — and  out  he  swung. 

“ There  goes  a most  gallant  rascal,”  said  the  Lord  Deputy. 

“ And  a most  rascally  gallant,”  said  Zouch,  “ The  mur- 
der of  his  own  page,  of  which  I gave  him  a remembrancer,  is 
among  the  least  of  his  sins.” 

“And  now,  Captain  Raleigh,”  said  Lord  Grey,  “as  you 
have  been  so  earnest  in  preaching  this  butchery,  I have  a right 
to  ask  none  but  you  to  practise  it.” 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


199 


CHAP.  IX.] 

Raleigh  bit  his  lip,  and  replied  by  the  “ quip  courteous  ” — 

“I  am  at  least  a man,  my  Lord,  who  thinks  it  shame  to 
allow  others  to  do  that  which  I dare  not  do  myself.” 

Lord  Grey  might  probably  have  returned  “the  countercheck 
quarrelsome,”  had  not  Mackworth  risen  ; — 

“And  I,  my  Lord,  being  in  that  matter  at  least  one  of 
Captain  Raleigh’s  kidney,  will  just  go  with  him  to  see  that  he 
takes  no  harm  by  being  bold  enough  to  carry  out  an  ugly 
business,  and  serving  these  rascals  as  their  countrymen  served 
Mr.  Oxenham.” 

“ I bid  you  good  morning,  then,  gentlemen,  though  I can- 
not bid  you  God  speed,”  said  Lord  Grey ; and  sitting  down 
again,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and,  to  the  astonishment 
of  all  bystanders,  burst,  say  the  chroniclers,  into  tears. 

Amyas  followed  Raleigh  out.  The  latter  was  pale,  but 
determined,  and  very  wroth  against  the  Deputy. 

“ Does  the  man  take  me  for  a hangman,”  said  he,  “ that 
he  speaks  to  me  thus  ? But  such  is  the  way  of  the  great.  If 
you  neglect  your  duty,  they  haul  you  over  the  coals ; if  you  do 
it,  you  must  do  it  on  your  own  responsibility.  Farewell, 
Amyas  ; you  will  not  shrink  from  me  as  a butcher  when  I 
return  ?” 

“ God  forbid  ! But  how  will  you  do  it  ? ” 

“ March  one  company  in,  and  drive  them  forth,  and  let  the 
other  cut  them  down  as  they  come  out. — Pah  !” 

It  was  done.  Right  or  wrong,  it  was  done.  The  shrieks 
and  curses  had  died  away,  and  the  Fort  del  Oro  was  a red 
shambles,  which  the  soldiers  were  trying  to  cover  from  the 
sight  of  heaven  and  earth,  by  dragging  the  bodies  into  the 
ditch,  and  covering  them  with  the  ruins  of  the  rampart ; while 
the  Irish,  who  had  beheld  from  the  woods  that  awful  warning, 
fled  trembling  into  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  forest.  It  was 
done ; and  it  never  needed  to  be  done  again.  The  hint  was 
severe,  but  it  was  sufficient.  Many  years  passed  before  a 
Spaniard  set  foot  again  in  Ireland. 

The  Spanish  and  Italian  officers  were  spared,  and  Amyas 
had  Don  Guzman  Maria  Magdalena  Sotomayor  de  Soto  duly 
adjudged  to  him,  as  his  prize  by  right  of  war.  He  was,  of 
course,  ready  enough  to  fight  Sebastian  of  Modena : but  Lord 
Grey  forbade  the  duel : blood  enough  had  been  shed  already. 
The  next  question  was,  where  to  bestow  Don  Guzman  till  his 
ransom  should  arrive ; and  as  Amyas  could  not  well  deliver 


200 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[cnAP.  ix, 

the  gallant  Don  into  the  safe  custody  of  Mrs.  Leigh  at  Bur- 
rough,  and  still  less  into  that  of  Frank  at  Court,  he  was  fain 
to  write  to  Sir  Richard  Grenvile,  and  ask  his  advice,  and  in 
the  meanwhile  keep  the  Spaniard  with  him  upon  parole,  which 
he  frankly  gave, — saying  that  as  for  running  away,  he  had 
nowhere  to  run  to  ; and  as  for  joining  the  Irish  he  had  no 
mind  to  turn  pig ; and  Amyas  found  him,  as  shall  be  here- 
after told,  pleasant  company  enough.  But  one  morning  Raleigh 
entered, — 

“ I have  done  you  a good  turn,  Leigh,  if  you  think  it  one. 
I have  talked  St.  Leger  into  making  you  my  lieutenant,  and 
giving  you  the  custody  of  a right  pleasant  hermitage — some 
castle  Shackatory  or  other  in  the  midst  of  a big  bog,  where 
time  will  run  swift  and  smooth  with  you,  between  hunting 
wild  Irish,  snaring  snipes,  and  drinking  yourself  drunk  with 
usquebaugh  over  a turf  fire.” 

“ I’ll  go,”  quoth  Amyas ; “ anything  for  work.”  So  he 
went  and  took  possession  of  his  lieutenancy  and  his  black 
robber  tower,  and  there  passed  the  rest  of  the  winter,  fighting 
or  hunting  all  day,  and  chatting  and  reading  all  the  evening, 
with  Sehor  Don  Guzman,  who,  like  a good  soldier  of  fortune, 
made  himself  thoroughly  at  home,  and  a general  favourite  with 
the  soldiers. 

At  first,  indeed,  his  Spanish  pride  and  stateliness,  and 
Amyas’s  English  taciturnity,  kept  the  two  apart  somewhat ; 
but  they  soon  began,  if  not  to  trust,  at  least  to  like  each  other  ; 
and  Don  Guzman  told  Amyas,  bit  by  bit,  who  he  was,  of  what 
an  ancient  house,  and  of  what  a poor  one ; and  laughed  over 
the  very  small  chance  of  his  ransom  being  raised,  and  the 
certainty  that,  at  least,  it  could  not  come  for  a couple  of  years, 
seeing  that  the  only  De  Soto  who  had  a penny  to  spare  was  a 
fat  old  dean  at  St.  Yago  de  Leon,  in  the  Caraccas,  at  which 
place  Don  Guzman  had  been  born.  This  of  course  led  to  much 
talk  about  the  West  Indies,  and  the  Don  was  as  much  inter- 
ested to  find  that  Amyas  had  been  one  of  Drake’s  world-famous 
crew,  as  Amyas  was  to  find  that  his  captive  was  the  grandson 
of  none  other  than  that  most  terrible  of  man-hunters,  Don  Fer- 
dinando  de  Soto,  the  conqueror  of  Florida,  of  whom  Amyas 
had  read  many  a time  in  Las  Casas,  “ as  the  captain  of  tyrants, 
the  notoriousest  and  most  experimented  amongst  them  that 
have  done  the  most  hurts,  mischiefs,  and  destructions  in  many 
realms.”  And  often  enough  his  blood  boiled,  and  he  had  much 
ado  to  recollect  that  the  speaker  was  his  guest,  as  Don  Guzman 


Sir  Richard  Grenvile. 


chap.  IX.]  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  201 

chatted  away  about  his  grandfather’s  hunts,  of  innocent  women 
and  children,  murders  of  caciques  and  burnings  alive  of  guides, 
“pour  encourager  les  autres ,”  without,  seemingly,  the  least 
feeling  that  the  victims  were  human  beings  or  subjects  for 
human  pity ; anything,  in  short,  but  heathen  dogs,  enemies  of 
God,  servants  of  the  devil,  to  be  used  by  the  Christian  when 
he  needed,  and  when  not  needed  killed  down  as  cumberers  of 
the  ground.  But  Don  Guzman  was  a most  finished  gentle- 
man nevertheless  ; and  told  many  a good  story  of  the  Indies, 
and  told  it  well  ; and  over  and  above  his  stories,  he  had  among 
his  baggage  two  books, — the  one  Antonio  Galvano’s  “ Dis- 
coveries of  the  World,”  a mine  of  winter  evening  amusement 
to  Amyas ; and  the  other,  a manuscript  book,  which,  perhaps, 
it  had  been  well  for  Amyas  had  he  never  seen.  For  it  was 
none  other  than  a sort  of  rough  journal  which  Don  Guzman 
had  kept  as  a lad,  when  he  went  down  with  the  Adelantado 
Gonzales  Ximenes  de  Casada,  from  Peru  to  the  River  of 
Amazons,  to  look  for  the  golden  country  of  El  Dorado,  and  the 
city  of  Manoa,  which  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  White  Lake, 
and  equals  or  surpasses  in  glory  even  the  palace  of  the  Inca 
Huaynacapac ; “all  the  vessels  of  whose  house  and  kitchen  are 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  in  his  wardrobe  statues  of  gold  which 
seemed  giants,  and  figures  in  proportion  and  bigness  of  all  the 
beasts,  birds,  trees,  and  herbs  of  the  earth,  and  the  fishes  of 
the  water ; and  ropes,  budgets,  chests,  and  troughs  of  gold  : 
yea,  and  a garden  of  pleasure  in  an  Island  near  Puna,  where 
they  went  to  recreate  themselves  when  they  would  take  the  air 
of  the  sea,  which  had  all  kind  of  garden  herbs,  flowers,  and 
trees  of  gold  and  silver  of  an  invention  and  magnificence  till 
then  never  seen.” 

Now  the  greater  part  of  this  treasure  (and  be  it  remembered 
that  these  wonders  were  hardly  exaggerated,  and  that  there  were 
many  men  alive  then  who  had  beheld  them,  as  they  had  worse 
things,  “ with  their  corporal  and  mortal  eyes  ”)  was  hidden  by 
the  Indians  when  Pizarro  conquered  Peru  and  slew  Atahuallpa, 
son  of  Huaynacapac ; at  whose  death,  it  was  said,  one  of  the 
Inca’s  younger  brothers  fled  out  of  Peru,  and  taking  with  him 
a great  army,  vanquished  all  that  tract  which  lieth  between 
the  great  Rivers  of  Amazons  and  Baraquan,  otherwise  called 
Maranon  and  Orenoque. 

There  he  sits  to  this  day,  beside  the  golden  lake,  in  the 
golden  city,  which  is  in  breadth  a three  days’  journey,  covered, 
he  and  his  court,  with  gold  dust  from  head  to  foot,  waiting  for 


/ 


202 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[chap.  ix. 

the  fulfilment  of  the  ancient  prophecy  which  was  written  in  the 
temple  of  Caxamarca,  where  his  ancestors  worshipped  of  old ; 
that  heroes  shall  come  out  of  the  West,  and  lead  him  back  across 
the  forests  to  the  kingdom  of  Peru,  and  restore  him  to  the  glory 
oi  his  forefathers. 

Golden  phantom  ! so  possible,  so  probable,  to  imaginations 
which  were  yet  reeling  before  the  actual  and  veritable  prodigies 
of  Peru,  Mexico,  and  the  East  Indies.  Golden  phantom  ! which 
has  cost  already  the  lives  of  thousands,  and  shall  yet  cost  more  ; 
from  Diego  de  Ordas,  and  J uan  Corteso,  and  many  another,  who 
went  forth  on  the  quest  by  the  Andes,  and  by  the  Orinoco,  and 
by  the  Amazons  ; Antonio  Sedenno,  with  his  ghastly  caravan  of 
manacled  Indians,  “ on  whose  dead  carcasses  the  tigers  being 
fleshed,  assaulted  the  Spaniards  Augustine  Delgado,  who 
“came  to  a cacique,  who  entertained  him  with  all  kindness, 
and  gave  him  beside  much  gold  and  slaves,  three  nymphs  very 
beautiful,  which  bare  the  names  of  three  provinces,  Guanba, 
Gotoguane,  and  Maiarare.  To  requite  which  manifold  cour- 
tesies, he  carried  off,  not  only  all  the  gold,  but  all  the  Indians 
he  could  seize,  and  took  them  in  irons  to  Cubagua,  and  sold 
them  for  slaves  ; after  which,  Delgado  was  shot  in  the  eye  by 
an  Indian,  of  which  hurt  he  died  Pedro  d’Orsua,  who  found 
the  cinnamon  forests  of  Loxas,  “ whom  his  men  murdered,  and 
afterwards  beheaded  Lady  Anes  his  wife,  who  forsook  not  her 
lord  in  all  his  travels  unto  death,”  and  many  another,  who  has 
vanished  with  valiant  comrades  at  his  back  into  the  green 
gulfs  of  the  primaeval  forests,  never  to  emerge  again.  Golden 
phantom  ! man-devouring,  whose  maw  is  never  satiate  with 
souls  of  heroes  ; fatal  to  Spain,  more  fatal  still  to  England  upon 
that  shameful  day,  when  the  last  of  Elizabeth’s  heroes  shall  lay 
down  his  head  upon  the  block,  nominally  for  having  believed 
what  all  around  him  believed  likewise  till  they  found  it  expe- 
dient to  deny  it  in  order  to  curry  favour  with  the  crowned  cur 
who  betrayed  him,  really  because  he  alone  dared  to  make  one 
last  protest  in  behalf  of  liberty  and  Protestantism  against  the 
incoming  night  of  tyranny  and  superstition.  Little  thought 
Amyas,  as  he  devoured  the  pages  of  that  manuscript,  that  he 
was  laying  a snare  for  the  life  of  the  man  whom,  next  to  Drake 
and  Grenvile,  he  most  admired  on  earth. 

But  Don  Guzman,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  have  an 
instinct  that  that  book  might  be  a fatal  gift  to  his  captor ; for 
one  day  ere  Amyas  had  looked  into  it,  he  began  questioning  the 
Don  about  El  Dorado.  Whereon  Don  Guzman  replied  with 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


203 


CHAP.  IX.] 

one  of  those  smiles  of  his,  which  (as  Amyas  said  afterwards) 
was  so  abominably  like  a sneer,  that  he  had  often  hard  work 
to  keep  his  hands  off  the  man — 

“ Ah  ! You  have  been  eating  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge,  SehoH  Well ; if  you  have  any  ambition  to  follow 
many  another  brave  captain  to  the  pit,  I know  no  shorter  or 
easier  path  than  is  contained  in  that  little  book.” 

“I  have  never  opened  your  book,”  said  Amyas ; “your  private 
manuscripts  are  no  concern  of  mine  : but  my  man  who  recovered 
your  baggage  read  part  of  it,  knowing  no  better ; and  now  you 
are  at  liberty  to  tell  me  as  little  as  you  like.” 

The  “ man  ” it  should  be  said,  was  none  other  than  Salva- 
tion Yeo,  who  had  attached  himself  by  this  time  inseparably  to 
Amyas,  in  quality  of  body-guard : and,  as  was  common  enough 
in  those  days,  had  turned  soldier  for  the  nonce,  and  taken  under 
his  patronage  two  or  three  rusty  bases  (swivels)  and  falconets 
(four-pounders),  which  grinned  harmlessly  enough  from  the 
tower  top  across  the  cheerful  expanse  of  bog. 

Amyas  once  asked  him,  how  he  reconciled  this  Irish  sojourn 
with  his  vow  to  find  his  little  maid  ? Yeo  shook  his  head. 

“ I can’t  tell,  sir,  but  there’s  something  that  makes  me 
always  to  think  of  you  when  I think  of  her  • and  that’s  often 
enough,  the  Lord  knows.  Whether  it  is  that  I ben’t  to  find 
the  dear  without  your  help  ; or  whether  it  is  your  pleasant  face 
puts  me  in  mind  of  hers  ; or  what,  I can’t  tell ; but  don’t  you 
part  me  from  you,  sir,  for  I’m  like  Ruth,  and  where  you  lodge 
I lodge ; and  where  you  go  I go  ; and  where  you  die — though  I 
shall  die  many  a year  first — there  I’ll  die,  I hope  and  trust ; for 
I can’t  abear  you  out  of  my  sight ; and  that’s  the  truth  thereof.” 
So  Yeo  remained  with  Amyas,  while  Cary  went  elsewhere 
with  Sir  Warham  St.  Leger,  and  the  two  friends  met  seldom 
for  many  months ; so  that  Amyas’s  only  companion  was  Don 
Guzman,  who,  as  he  grew  more  familiar,  and  more  careless  about 
what  he  said  and  did  in  his  captor’s  presence,  often  puzzled  and 
scandalised  him  by  his  waywardness.  Fits  of  deep  melancholy 
alternated  with  bursts  of  Spanish  boastfulness,  utterly  astonish- 
ing to  the  modest  and  sober-minded  Englishman,  who  would 
often  have  fancied  him  inspired  by  usquebaugh,  had  he  not  had 
ocular  proof  of  his  extreme  abstemiousness. 

“ Miserable  ?”  said  he,  one  night  in  one  of  these  fits.  “ And 
have  I not  a right  to  be  miserable  ? — Why  should  I not  curse 
the  virgin  and  all  the  saints,  and  die  1 I have  not  a friend, 
not  a ducat  on  earth  ; not  even  a sword — hell  and  the  furies  J 


204 


HOW  AMYAS  KEPT 


[CHAP.  IX. 

It  was  my  all : the  only  bequest  I ever  had  from  my  father, 
and  I lived  by  it  and  earned  by  it.  Two  years  ago  I had  as 
pretty  a sum  of  gold  as  cavalier  could  wish — and  now  !” — 

“ What  is  become  of  it,  then  1 I cannot  hear  that  our  men 
plundered  you  of  any.” 

“ Your  men  1 No,  Senor ! What  fifty  men  dared  not 
have  done,  one  woman  did  ! a painted,  patched,  fucused,  peri- 
wigged, bolstered,  Charybdis,  cannibal,  Megsera,  Lamia  ! Why 
did  I ever  go  near  that  cursed  Naples,  the  common  sewer  of 
Europe  1 whose  women,  I believe,  would  be  swallowed  up  by 
Vesuvius  to-morrow,  if  it  were  not  that  Belphegor  is  afraid  of 
their  making  the  pit  itself  too  hot  to  hold  him.  Well,  sir,  she 
had  all  of  mine  and  more ; and  when  all  was  gone  in  wine  and 
dice,  woodcocks’  brains  and  ortolans’  tongues,  I met  the  witch 
wralking  with  another  man.  I had  a sword  and  a dagger ; I 
gave  him  the  first  (though  the  dog  fought  well  enough,  to  give 
him  his  due),  and  her  the  second ; left  them  lying  across  each 
other,  and  fled  for  my  life  : — and  here  I am  ! after  twenty  years 
of  fighting,  from  the  Levant  to  the  Orellana — for  I began  ere 
I had  a hair  on  my  chin — and  this  is  the  end ! — No,  it  is  not ! 
I’ll  have  that  El  Dorado  yet ! the  Adelantado  made  Berreo, 
when  he  gave  him  his  daughter,  swear  that  he  would  hunt  for 
it,  through  life  and  death. — We’ll  see  who  finds  it  first,  he  or 
I.  He’s  a bungler ; Orsua  was  a bungler — Pooh  ! Cortes  and 
Pizarro  ? we’ll  see  whether  there  are  not  as  good  Castilians  as 
they  left  still.  I can  do  it,  Senor.  I know  a track,  a plan ; 
over  the  Llanos  is  the  road ; and  I’ll  be  Emperor  of  Manoa  yet 
— possess  the  jewels  of  all  the  Incas ; and  gold,  gold  ! Pizarro 
was  a beggar  to  what  I will  be  !” 

“ Conceive,  sir,”  he  broke  forth  during  another  of  these 
peacock  fits,  as  Amyas  and  he  were  riding  along  the  hill-side  ; 
“conceive!  with  forty  chosen  cavaliers  (what  need  of  more1?) 
I present  myself  before  the  golden  king,  trembling  amid  his 
myriad  guards  at  the  new  miracle  of  the  mailed  centaurs  of  the 
West ; and  without  dismounting,  I approach  his  throne,  lift 
the  crucifix  which  hangs  around  my  neck,  and  pressing  it  to 
my  lips,  present  it  for  the  adoration  of  the  idolater,  and  give 
him  his  alternative;  that  which  Gayferos  and  the  Cid,  my 
ancestors,  offered  the  Soldan  and  the  Moor — baptism  or  death  ! 
He  hesitates ; perhaps  smiles  scornfully  upon  my  little  band ; 
I answer  him  by  deeds,  as  Don  Ferdinando,  my  illustrious 
grandfather,  answered  Atahuallpa  at  Peru,  in  sight  of  all  his 
court  and  camp.” 


CHAP.  IX.]  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  205 

“ With  your  lance-point,  as  Gayferos  did  the  Soldan  V' 
asked  Amyas,  amused. 

“No,  sir  • persuasion  first,  for  the  salvation  of  a soul  is  at 
stake.  Not  with  the  lance-point,  hut  the  spur,  sir,  thus  !” — 

And  striking  his  heels  into  his  horse’s  flanks,  he  darted  off 
at  full  speed. 

“The  Spanish  traitor!”  shouted  Yeo.  “He’s  going  to 
escape  ! Shall  we  shoot,  sir  1 Shall  we  shoot  V} 

“For  Heaven’s  sake,  no!”  said  Amyas,  looking  somewhat 
blank,  nevertheless,  for  he  much  doubted  whether  the  whole 
was  not  a ruse  on  the  part  of  the  Spaniard,  and  he  knew  how 
impossible  it  was  for  his  fifteen  stone  of  flesh  to  give  chase  to 
the  Spaniard’s  twelve.  But  he  was  soon  reassured  ; the  Spaniard 
wheeled  round  towards  him,  and  began  to  put  the  rough  hackney 
through  all  the  paces  of  the  manage  with  a grace  and  skill  which 
won  applause  from  the  beholders. 

“Thus!”  he  shouted,  waving  his  hand  to  Amyas,  between 
his  curvets  and  caracoles,  “did  my  illustrious  grandfather 
exhibit  to  the  Paynim  emperor  the  prowess  of  a Castilian 
cavalier  ! Thus  ! — and  thus  ! — and  thus,  at  last,  he  dashed  up 
to  his  very  feet,  as  I to  yours,  and  bespattering  that  unbaptized 
visage  with  his  Christian  bridlefoam,  pulled  up  his  charger  on 
his  haunches,  thus  !” 

And  (as  was  to  be  expected  from  a blown  Irish  garron  on 
a peaty  Irish  hill-side)  down  went  the  hapless  hackney  on  his 
tail,  away  went  his  heels  a yard  in  front  of  him,  and  ere  Don 
Guzman  could  “ avoid  his  selle,”  horse  and  man  rolled  over  into 
a neighbouring  bog-hole. 

“ After  pride  comes  a fall,”  quoth  Yeo  with  unmoved  visage 
as  he  lugged  him  out. 

“And  what  would  you  do  with  the  Emperor  at  last?” 
asked  Amyas  when  the  Don  had  been  scrubbed  somewhat  clean 
with  a bunch  of  rushes.  “ Kill  him,  as  your  grandfather  did 
Atahuallpa  V* 

“My  grandfather,”  answered  the  Spaniard  indignantly, 
“ was  one  of  those  who,  to  their  eternal  honour,  protested  to 
the  last  against  that  most  cruel  and  unknightly  massacre.  He 
could  be  terrible  to  the  heathen  ; but  he  kept  his  plighted  word, 
sir,  and  taught  me  to  keep  mine,  as  you  have  seen  to-day.” 

“I  have,  Senor,”  said  Amyas.  “ You  might  have  given  us 
the  slip  easily  enough  just  now,  and  did  not.  Pardon  me,  if  I 
have  offended  you.” 

The  Spaniard  (who,  after  all,  was  cross  principally  with 


206  HOW  AMYAS  KEPT  HIS  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  [chap.  ix. 

himself  and  the  “ unlucky  mare’s  son,”  as  the  old  romances 
have  it,  which  had  played  him  so  scurvy  a trick)  was  all  smiles 
again  forthwith ; and  Amyas,  as  they  chatted  on,  could  not 
help  asking  him  next — 

“ I wonder  why  you  are  so  frank  about  your  own  intentions 
to  an  enemy  like  me,  who  will  surely  forestal  you  if  he  can.” 

“ Sir,  a Spaniard  needs  no  concealment,  and  fears  no  rivalry. 
He  is  the  soldier  of  the  Cross,  and  in  it  he  conquers,  like  Con- 
stantine of  old.  Not  that  you  English  are  not  very  heroes ; 
but  you  have  not,  sir,  and  you  cannot  have,  who  have  forsworn 
our  Lady  and  the  choir  of  saints,  the  same  divine  protection, 
the  same  celestial  mission,  which  enables  the  Catholic  cavalier 
single-handed  to  chase  a thousand  Paynims.” 

And  Don  Guzman  crossed  himself  devoutly,  and  muttered 
half-a-dozen  Ave  Marias  in  succession,  while  Amyas  rode  silently 
by  his  side,  utterly  puzzled  at  this  strange  compound  of  shrewd- 
ness with  fanaticism,  of  perfect  high-breeding  with  a boastful- 
ness which  in  an  Englishman  would  have  been  the  sure  mark 
of  vulgarity. 

At  last  came  a letter  from  Sir  Richard  Grenvile,  compli- 
menting Amyas  on  his  success  and  promotion,  bearing  a long 
and  courtly  message  to  Don  Guzman  (whom  Grenvile  had 
known  when  he  was  in  the  Mediterranean,  at  the  battle  of 
Lepanto),  and  offering  to  receive  him  as  his  own  guest  at  Bide- 
ford, till  his  ransom  should  arrive ; a proposition  which  the 
Spaniard  (who  of  course  was  getting  sufficiently  tired  of  the  Irish 
bogs)  could  not  but  gladly  accept ; and  one  of  Winter’s  ships, 
returning  to  England  in  the  spring  of  1581,  delivered  duly  at 
the  quay  of  Bideford  the  body  of  Don  Guzman  Maria  Magda- 
lena. Raleigh,  after  forming  for  that  summer  one  of  the  trium- 
virate by  which  Munster  was  governed  after  Ormond’s  departure, 
at  last  got  his  wish  and  departed  for  England  and  the  Court ; 
and  Amyas  was  left  alone  with  the  snipes  and  yellow  mantles 
for  two  more  weary  years. 


CHAP.  X.]  HOW  MR.  SALTERNE  BAITED  HIS  HOOK.  2 Of 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOW  THE  MAYOR  OF  BIDEFORD  BAITED  HIS  HOOK  WITH  HIS 
OWN  FLESH. 

“ And  therewith  he  blent,  and  cried  ha  ! 

As  though  he  had  been  stricken  to  the  harte.” 

Palamon  and  Arcite. 

So  it  befell  to  Chaucer’s  knight  in  prison  ; and  so  it  befell  also 
to  Don  Guzman ; and  it  befell  on  this  wise. 

He  settled  down  quietly  enough  at  Bideford  on  his  parole, 
in  better  quarters  than  he  had  occupied  for  many  a day,  and 
took  things  as  they  came,  like  a true  soldier  of  fortune  ; till, 
after  he  had  been  with  Grenvile  hardly  a month,  old  Salterne 
the  Mayor  came  to  supper. 

Now  Don  Guzman,  however  much  he  might  be  puzzled  at 
first  at  our  strange  English  ways  of  asking  burghers  and  such 
low-bred  folk  to  eat  and  drink  above  the  salt,  in  the  company 
of  noble  persons,  was  quite  gentleman  enough  to  know  that 
Richard  Gr'envile  was  gentleman  enough  to  do  only  what  was 
correct,  and  according  to  the  customs  and  proprieties.  So  after 
shrugging  the  shoulders  of  his  spirit,  he  submitted  to  eat  and 
drink  at  the  same  board  with  a tradesman  who  sat  at  a desk, 
and  made  up  ledgers,  and  took  apprentices ; and  hearing  him 
talk  with  Grenvile  neither  unwisely  nor  in  a vulgar  fashion, 
actually  before  the  evening  was  out  condescended  to  exchange 
words  with  him  himself.  Whereon  he  found  him  a very  pru- 
dent and  courteous  person,  quite  aware  of  the  Spaniard’s  superior 
rank,  and  making  him  feel  in  every  sentence  that  he  was  aware 
thereof;  and  yet  holding  his  own  opinion,  and  asserting  his  own 
rights  as  a wise  elder  in  a fashion  which  the  Spaniard  had  only 
seen  before  among  the  merchant  princes  of  Genoa  and  Venice. 

At  the  end  of  supper,  Salterne  asked  Grenvile  to  do  his 
humble  roof  the  honour,  etc.  etc. , of  supping  with  him  the  next 
evening,  and  then  turning  to  the  Don,  said  quite  frankly, 
that  he  knew  how  great  a condescension  it  would  be  on  the 
part  of  a nobleman  of  Spain  to  sit  at  the  board  of  a simple 
merchant : but  that  if  the  Spaniard  deigned  to  do  him  such  a 
favour,  he  would  find  that  the  cheer  was  fit  enough  for  any 
rank,  whatsoever  the  company  might  be ; which  invitation  Don 
Guzman,  being  on  the  whole  glad  enough  of  anything  to  amuse 


208  HOW  MR.  SALTERNE  BAITED  HIS  HOOK  [chap.  x. 

him,  graciously  condescended  to  accept,  and  gained  thereby  an  ex- 
cellent supper,  and,  if  he  had  chosen  to  drink  it,  much  good  wine. 

Now  Mr.  Salterne  was,  of  course,  as  a wise  merchant,  as 
ready  as  any  man  for  an  adventure  to  foreign  parts,  as  was 
afterwards  proved  by  his  great  exertions  in  the  settlement  of 
Virginia  ; and  he  was,  therefore,  equally  ready  to  rack  the 
brains  of  any  guest  whom  he  suspected  of  knowing  anything 
concerning  strange  lands ; and  so  he  thought  no  shame,  first  to 
try  to  loose  his  guest’s  tongue  by  much  good  sack,  and  next  to 
ask  him  prudent  and  well- concocted  questions  concerning  the 
Spanish  Main,  Peru,  the  Moluccas,  China,  the  Indies,  and  all 
parts. 

The  first  of  which  schemes  failed ; for  the  Spaniard  was  as 
abstemious  as  any  monk,  and  drank  little  but  water;  the 
second  succeeded  not  over  well,  for  the  Spaniard  was  as  cunning 
as  any  fox,  and  answered  little  but  wind. 

In  the  midst  of  which  tongue -fence  in  came  the  Rose  of 
Torridge,  looking  as  beautiful  as  usual;  and  hearing  what  they 
were  upon,  added,  artlessly  enough,  her  questions  to  her  father’s: 
to  her  Don  Guzman  could  not  but  answer  ; and  without  reveal- 
ing any  very  important  commercial  secrets,  gave  his  host  and 
his  host’s  daughter  a very  amusing  evening. 

Now  little  Eros,  though  spirits  like  Frank  Leigh’s  may 
choose  to  call  him  (as,  perhaps,  he  really  is  to  them)  the  eldest 
of  the  gods,  and  the  son  of  Jove  and  Venus,  yet  is  reported  by 
other  equally  good  authorities,  as  Burton  has  set  forth  in  his 
“Anatomy  of  Melancholy,”  to  be  after  all  only  the  child  of  idle- 
ness and  fulness  of  bread.  To  which  scandalous  calumny  the 
thoughts  of  Don  Guzman’s  heart  gave  at  least  a certain  colour ; 
for  he  being  idle  (as  captives  needs  must  be),  and  also  full  of 
bread  (for  Sir  Richard  kept  a very  good  table),  had  already 
looked  round  for  mere  amusement’s  sake  after  some  one  with 
whom  to  fall  in  love.  Lady  Grenvile,  as  nearest,  was,  I blush 
to  say,  thought  of  first ; but  the  Spaniard  was  a man  of  honour, 
and  Sir  Richard  his  host ; so  he  put  away  from  his  mind  (with 
a self-denial  on  which  he  plumed  himself  much)  the  pleasure  of 
a chase  equally  exciting  to  his  pride  and  his  love  of  danger. 
As  for  the  sinfulness  of  the  said  chase,  he  of  course  thought  no 
more  of  that  than  other  Southern  Europeans  did  then,  or  than 
(I  blush  again  to  have  to  say  it)  the  English  did  afterwards  in 
the  days  of  the  Stuarts.  Nevertheless,  he  had  put  Lady  Gren- 
vile out  of  his  mind ; and  so  left  room  to  take  Rose  Salterne 
into  it,  not  with  any  distinct  purpose  of  wronging  her : but,  as 


CHAP,  x.]  WITH  HIS  OWN  FLESH.  209 

I said  before,  half  to  amuse  himself,  and  half,  too,  because  he 
could  not  help  it.  For  there  was  an  innocent  freshness  about 
the  Rose  of  Torridge,  fond  as  she  was  of  being  admired,  which 
was  new  to  him  and  most  attractive.  “ The  train  of  the  pea- 
cock,” as  he  said  to  himself,  “ and  yet  the  heart  of  the  dove,” 
made  so  charming  a combination,  that  if  he  could  have  persuaded 
her  to  love  no  one  but  him,  perhaps  he  might  become  fool  enough 
to  love  no  one  but  her.  And  at  that  thought  he  was  seized 
with  a very  panic  of  prudence,  and  resolved  to  keep  out  of  her 
way ; and  yet  the  days  ran  slowly,  and  Lady  Grenvile  when  at 
ome  was  stupid  enough  to  talk  and  think  about  nothing  but 
ner  husband ; and  when  she  went  to  Stow,  and  left  the  Don 
alone  in  one  corner  of  the  great  house  at  Bideford,  what  could 
le  do  but  lounge  down  to  the  butt-gardens  to  show  off  his  fine 
dack  cloak  and  fine  black  feather,  see  the  shooting,  have  a 
game  or  two  of  rackets  with  the  youngsters,  a game  or  two  of 
bowls  with  the  elders,  and  get  himself  invited  home  to  supper 
by  Mr.  Salterne 

And  there,  of  course,  he  had  it  all  his  own  way,  and 
ruled  the  roast  (which  he  was  fond  enough  of  doing)  right 
royally,  not  only  on  account  of  his  rank,  but  because  he  had 
something  to  say  worth  hearing,  as  a travelled  man.  For  those 
times  were  the  day-dawn  of  English  commerce;  and  not  a 
merchant  in  Bideford,  or  in  all  England,  but  had  his  imagina- 
tion all  on  fire  with  projects  of  discoveries,  companies,  privileges, 
patents,  and  settlements;  with  gallant  rivalry  of  the  brave 
adventures  of  Sir  Edward  Osborne  and  his  new  London  Com- 
pany of  Turkey  Merchants  ; with  the  privileges  just  granted  by 
the  Sultan  Murad  Khan  to  the  English ; with  the  worthy 
Levant  voyages  of  Roger  Bodenham  in  the  great  bark  Aucher, 
and  of  John  Fox,  and  Lawrence  Aldersey,  and  John  Rule ; and 
with  hopes  from  the  vast  door  for  Mediterranean  trade,  which 
the  crushing  of  the  Venetian  power  at  Famagusta  in  Cyprus, 
and  the  alliance  made  between  Elizabeth  and  the  Grand  Turk, 
had  just  thrown  open.  So  not  a word  could  fall  from  the 
Spaniard  about  the  Mediterranean  but  took  root  at  once  in 
right  fertile  soil.  Besides,  Master  Edmund  Hogan  had  been  on 
a successful  embassy  to  the  Emperor  of  Morocco;  John  Hawkins 
and  George  Fenner  had  been  to  Guinea  (and  with  the  latter 
Mr.  Walter  Wren,  a Bideford  man),  and  had  traded  there  for 
musk  and  civet,  gold  and  grain  ; and  African  news  was  becom- 
ing almost  as  valuable  as  West  Indian.  Moreover,  but  two 
months  before  had  gone  from  London  Captain  Hare  in  the  bark 


210  HOW  MR.  SALTERNE  BAITED  HIS  HOOK  [chap,  x 

Minion,  for  Brazil,  and  a company  of  adventurers  with  him, 
with  Sheffield  hardware,  and  “Devonshire  and  Northern  kersies,” 
hollands  and  “Manchester  cottons,”  for  there  was  a great 
opening  for  English  goods  by  the  help  of  one  John  Whithall, 
who  had  married  a Spanish  heiress,  and  had  an  ingenio  and 
slaves  in  Santos.  (Don’t  smile,  reader,  or  despise  the  day  of 
small  things,  and  those  who  sowed  the  seed  whereof  you  reap 
the  mighty  harvest.)  In  the  meanwhile,  Drake  had  proved 
not  merely  the  possibility  of  plundering  the  American  coasts, 
but  of  establishing  an  East  Indian  trade ; Frobisher  and  Davis, 
worthy  forefathers  of  our  Parrys  and  Franklins,  had  begun  to 
bore  their  way  upward  through  the  Northern  ice,  in  search  of  a 
passage  to  China  which  should  avoid  the  dangers  of  the  Spanish 
seas ; and  Anthony  Jenkinson,  not  the  least  of  English  travel- 
lers, had,  in  six-and-twenty  years  of  travel  in  behalf  of  the 
Muscovite  Company,  penetrated  into  not  merely  Russia  and  the 
Levant,  but  Persia  and  Armenia,  Bokhara,  Tartary,  Siberia, 
and  those  waste  Arctic  shores  where,  thirty  years  before,  the 
brave  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby, 

“ In  Arzina  caught, 

Perished  with  all  his  crew.” 

Everywhere  English  commerce,  under  the  genial  sunshine  of 
Elizabeth’s  wise  rule,  was  spreading  and  taking  root ; and  as 
Don  Guzman  talked  with  his  new  friends,  he  soon  saw  (for  he 
was  shrewd  enough)  that  they  belonged  to  a race  which  must 
be  exterminated  if  Spain  intended  to  become  (as  she  did  intend) 
the  mistress  of  the  world;  and  that  it  was  not  enough  for 
Spain  to  have  seized  in  the  Pope’s  name  the  whole  new  world, 
and  claimed  the  exclusive  right  to  sail  the  seas  of  America ; 
not  enough  to  have  crushed  the  Hollanders;  not  enough  to 
have  degraded  the  Venetians  into  her  bankers,  and  the  Genoese 
into  her  mercenaries ; not  enough  to  have  incorporated  into 
herself,  with  the  kingdom  of  Portugal,  the  whole  East  Indian 
trade  of  Portugal,  while  these  fierce  islanders  remained  to 
assert,  with  cunning  policy  and  texts  of  Scripture,  and,  if  they 
failed,  with  sharp  shot  and  cold  steel,  free  seas  and  free  trade 
for  all  the  nations  upon  earth.  He  saw  it,  and  his  country- 
men saw  it  too  : and  therefore  the  Spanish  Armada  came  : but 
of  that  hereafter.  And  Don  Guzman  knew  also,  by  hard 
experience,  that  these  same  islanders,  who  sat  in  Salterne’s 
parlour,  talking  broad  Devon  through  their  noses,  were  no 
mere  counters  of  money  and  hucksters  of  goods  : but  men  who, 
though  they  thoroughly  hated  fighting,  and  loved  making 


CHAP.  X.]  WITH  HIS  OWN  FLESH.  211 

money  instead,  could  fight,  upon  occasion,  after  a very  dogged 
and  terrible  fashion,  as  well  as  the  bluest  blood  in  Spain ; and 
who  sent  out  their  merchant  ships  armed  up  to  the  teeth,  and 
filled  with  men  who  had  been  trained  from  childhood  to  use 
those  arms,  and  had  orders  to  use  them  without  mercy  if  either 
Spaniard,  Portugal,  or  other  created  being  dared  to  stop  their 
money-making.  And  one  evening  he  waxed  quite  mad,  when, 
after  having  civilly  enough  hinted  that  if  Englishmen  came 
where  they  had  no  right  to  come,  they  might  find  themselves 
sent  back  again,  he  was  answered  by  a volley  of — 

“We’ll  see  that,  sir.” 

“ Depends  on  who  says  1 No  right.’” 

“ You  found  might  right,”  said  another,  “ when  you  claimed 
the  Indian  seas ; we  may  find  right  might  when  we  try  them.” 

“ Try  them,  then,  gentlemen,  by  all  means,  if  it  shall  so 
please  your  worships  ; and  find  the  sacred  flag  of  Spain  as  in- 
vincible as  ever  was  the  Roman  eagle.” 

“We  have,  sir.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Francis  Drake?” 

“ Or  of  George  Fenner  and  the  Portugals  at  the  Azores,  one 
against  seven  ? ” 

“Or  of  John  Hawkins,  at  St.,  Juan  d’Ulloa?” 

“ You  are  insolent  burghers,”  said  Don  Guzman,  and  rose 
to  go. 

“ Sir,”  said  old  Salterne,  “ as  you  say,  we  are  burghers  and 
plain  men,  and  some  of  us  have  forgotten  ourselves  a little,  per- 
haps ; we  must  beg  you  to  forgive  our  want  of  manners,  and  to 
put  it  down  to  the  strength  of  my  wine  ; for  insolent  we  never 
meant  to  be,  especially  to  a noble  gentleman  and  a foreigner.” 
But  the  Don  would  not  be  pacified  ; and  walked  out,  calling 
himself  an  ass  and  a blinkard  for  having  demeaned  himself  to 
such  a company,  forgetting  that  he  had  brought  it  on  himself. 

Salterne  (prompted  by  the  great  devil  Mammon)  came  up 
to  him  next  day,  and  begged  pardon  again  ; promising,  more- 
over, that  none  of  those  who  had  been  so  rude  should  be  hence- 
forth asked  to  meet  him,  if  he  would  deign  to  honour  his  house 
once  more.  And  the  Don  actually  was  appeased,  and  went 
there  the  very  next  evening,  sneering  at  himself  the  whole  time 
for  going. 

“ Fool  that  I am  ! that  girl  has  bewitched  me,  I believe. 
Go  I must,  and  eat  my  share  of  dirt,  for  her  sake.” 

So  he  went ; and,  cunningly  enough,  hinted  to  old  Salterne 
that  he  had  taken  such  a fancy  to  him,  and  felt  so  bound  by 
his  courtesy  and  hospitality,  that  he  might  not  object  to  tel 


212  HOW  MR.  SALTERNE  BAITED  HIS  HOOK  [CHAP.  X. 

him  things  which  he  would  not  mention  to  every  one ; for  that 
the  Spaniards  were  not  jealous  of  single  traders,  but  of  any 
general  attempt  to  deprive  them  of  their  hard-earned  wealth  : 
that,  however,  in  the  meanwhile,  there  were  plenty  of  oppor- 
tunities for  one  man  here  and  there  to  enrich  himself,  etc. 

Old  Salterne,  shrewd  as  he  was,  had  his  weak  point,  and 
the  Spaniard  had  touched  it ; and  delighted  at  this  opportunity 
of  learning  the  mysteries  of  the  Spanish  monopoly,  he  often 
actually  set  Rose  on  to  draw  out  the  Don,  without  a fear  (so 
blind  does  money  make  men)  lest  she  might  be  herself  drawn 
in.  For,  first,  he  held  it  as  impossible  that  she  would  think  of 
marrying  a Popish  Spaniard  as  of  marrying  the  man  in  the 
moon ; and,  next,  as  impossible  that  he  would  think  of  marry- 
ing a burgher’s  daughter  as  of  marrying  a negress  ; and  trusted 
that  the  religion  of  the  one,  and  the  family  pride  of  the  other, 
would  keep  them  as  separate  as  beings  of  two  different  species. 
And  as  for  love  without  marriage,  if  such  a possibility  ever 
crossed  him,  the  thought  was  rendered  absurd ; on  Rose’s  part 
by  her  virtue,  on  which  the  old  man  (and  rightly)  would  have 
staked  every  farthing  he  had  on  earth ; and  on  the  Don’s  part, 
by  a certain  human  fondness  for  the  continuity  of  the  carotid 
artery  and  the  parts  adjoining,  for  which  (and  that  not  alto- 
gether justly,  seeing  that  Don  Guzman  cared  as  little  for  his 
own  life  as  he  did  for  his  neighbour’s)  Mr.  Salterne  gave  him 
credit.  And  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  for  weeks  and  months 
the  merchant’s  house  was  the  Don’s  favourite  haunt,  and  he  saw 
the  Rose  of  Torridge  daily,  and  the  Rose  of  Torridge  heard  him. 

And  as  for  her,  poor  child,  she  had  never  seen  such  a man. 
He  had,  or  seemed  to  have,  all  the  high-bred  grace  of  Frank, 
and  yet  he  was  cast  in  a manlier  mould  ; he  had  just  enough  of 
his  nation’s  proud  self-assertion  to  make  a woman  bow  before 
him  as  before  a superior,  and  yet  tact  enough  to  let  it  very 
seldom  degenerate  into  that  boastfulness  of  which  the  Spaniards 
were  then  so  often  and  so  justly  accused.  He  had  marvels  to 
tell  by  flood  and  field  as  many  and  more  than  Amyas  ; and  he 
told  them  with  a grace  and  an  eloquence  of  which  modest, 
simple,  old  Amyas  possessed  nothing.  Besides,  he  was  on  the 
spot,  and  the  Leighs  were  not,  nor  indeed  were  any  of  her  old 
lovers  ; and  what  could  she  do  but  amuse  herself  with  the  only 
person  who  came  to  hand  1 

So  thought,  in  time,  more  ladies  than  she ; for  the  country, 
the  north  of  it  at  least,  was  all  but  bare  just  then  of  young 
gallants,  what  with  the  Netherland  wars  and  the  Irish  wars; 


CHAP.  X.]  WITH  HIS  OWN  FLESH.  213 

and  the  Spaniard  became  soon  welcome  at  every  house  for  many 
a mile  round,  and  made  use  of  his  welcome  so  freely,  and  re- 
ceived so  much  unwonted  attention  from  fair  young  dames,  that 
his  head  might  have  been  a little  turned,  and  Rose  Salterne 
have  thereby  escaped,  had  not  Sir  Richard  delicately  given 
him  to  understand  that  in  spite  of  the  free  and  easy  manners  of 
English  ladies,  brothers  were  just  as  jealous,  and  ladies’  honours 
at  least  as  inexpugnable,  as  in  the  land  of  demureness  and 
Duennas.  Don  Guzman  took  the  hint  well  enough,  and  kept 
on  good  terms  with  the  country  gentlemen  as  with  their 
daughters ; and  to  tell  the  truth,  the  cunning  soldier  of  fortune 
found  his  account  in  being  intimate  with  all  the  ladies  he  could, 
in  order  to  prevent  old  Salterne  from  fancying  that  he  had  any 
peculiar  predilection  for  Mistress  Rose. 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Salterne’s  parlour  being  nearest  to  him, 
still  remained  his  most  common  haunt ; where,  while  he  dis- 
coursed for  hours  about 

“ Antres  vast  and  deserts  idle, 

And  of  the  cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 

Of  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders,” 

to  the  boundless  satisfaction  of  poor  Rose’s  fancy,  he  took  care 
to  season  his  discourse  with  scraps  of  mercantile  information, 
which  kept  the  old  merchant  always  expectant  and  hankering 
for  more,  and  made  it  worth  his  while  to  ask  the  Spaniard  in 
again  and  again. 

And  his  stories,  certainly,  were  worth  hearing.  He  seemed 
to  have  been  everywhere,  and  to  have  seen  everything  : born  in 
Peru,  and  sent  home  to  Spain  at  ten  years  old  ; brought  up  in 
Italy ; a soldier  in  the  Levant ; an  adventurer  to  the-  East 
Indies;  again  in  America,  first  in  the  islands,  and  then  in 
Mexico.  Then  back  again  to  Spain,  and  thence  to  Rome,  and 
thence  to  Ireland.  Shipwrecked ; captive  among  savages ; 
looking  down  the  craters  of  volcanoes ; hanging  about  all  the 
courts  of  Europe ; fighting  Turks,  Indians,  lions,  elephants, 
alligators,  and  what  not1?  At  five -and -thirty  he  had  seen 
enough  for  three  lives,  and  knew  how  to  make  the  best  of  what 
he  had  seen. 

He  had  shared,  as  a lad,  in  the  horrors  of  the  memorable 
siege  of  Famagusta,  and  had  escaped,  he  hardly  knew  himself 
how,  from  the  hands  of  the  victorious  Turks,  and  from  the 
certainty  (if  he  escaped  being  flayed  alive  or  impaled,  as  most 
of  the  captive  officers  were)  of  ending  his  life  as  a Janissary  at 


214  HOW  MR.  SALTERNE  BAITED  HIS  HOOK  [chap.  X. 

the  Sultan’s  court.  He  had  been  at  the  Battle  of  the  Three  ' 
Kings ; had  seen  Stukely  borne  down  by  a hundred  lances,  un- 
conquered even  in  death ; and  had  held  upon  his  knee  the  head 
of  the  dying  King  of  Portugal. 

And  now,  as  he  said  to  Rose  one  evening,  what  had  he  left 
on  earth,  but  a heart  trampled  as  hard  as  the  pavement  1 
Whom  had  he  to  love  1 Who  loved  him  ? He  had  nothing  for 
which  to  live  but  fame : and  even  that  was  denied  to  him,  a 
prisoner  in  a foreign  land. 

“ Had  he  no  kindred,  then  ?”  asked  pitying  Rose. 

“My  two  sisters  are  in  a convent ; — they  had  neither  money 
nor  beauty ; so  they  are  dead  to  me.  My  brother  is  a Jesuit, 
so  he  is  dead  to  me.  My  father  fell  by  the  hands  of  Indians 
in  Mexico;  my  mother,  a penniless  widow,  is  companion,  duenna 
— whatsoever  they  may  choose  to  call  it — carrying  fans  and  lap- 
dogs  for  some  princess  or  other  there  in  Seville,  of  no  better 
blood  than  herself ; and  I — devil ! I have  lost  even  my  sword 
— and  so  fares  the  house  of  De  Soto.” 

Hon  Guzman,  of  course,  intended  to  be  pitied,  and  pitied 
he  was  accordingly.  And  then  he  would  turn  the  conversation, 
and  begin  telling  Italian  stories,  after  the  Italian  fashion, 
according  to  his  auditory : the  pathetic  ones  when  Rose  was 
present,  the  racy  ones  when  she  was  absent ; so  that  Rose  had 
wept  over  the  sorrows  of  Juliet  and  Hesdemona,  and  over  many 
another  moving  tale,  long  before  they  were  ever  enacted  on  an 
English  stage,  and  the  ribs  of  the  Bideford  worthies  had  shaken 
to  many  a jest  which  Cinthio  and  Bandello’s  ghosts  must  come 
and  make  for  themselves  over  again  if  they  wish  them  to  be  re- 
membered, for  I shall  lend  them  no  shove  toward  immortality. 

And  so  on,  and  so  on.  What  need  of  more  words  1 Before 
a year  was  out,  Rose  Salterne  was  far  more  in  love  with  Hon 
Guzman  than  he  with  her;  and  both  suspected  each  other’s 
mind,  though  neither  hinted  at  the  truth ; she  from  fear,  and 
he,  to  tell  the  truth,  from  sheer  Spanish  pride  of  blood.  For 
he  soon  began  to  find  out  that  he  must  compromise  that  blood 
by  marrying  the  heretic  burgher’s  daughter,  or  all  his  labour 
would  be  thrown  away. 

He  had  seen  with  much  astonishment,  and  then  practised 
with  much  pleasure,  that  graceful  old  English  fashion  of  salut- 
ing every  lady  on  the  cheek  at  meeting,  which  (like  the  old 
Hutch  fashion  of  asking  young  ladies  out  to  feasts  without  their 
mothers)  used  to  give  such  cause  of  brutal  calumny  and  scandal 
to  the  coarse  minds  of  Romish  visitors  from  the  Continent ; and 


WITH  HIS  OWN  FLESH. 


215 


CHAP.  X.] 


he  had  seen,  too,  fuming  with  jealous  rage,  more  than  one  Bide- 
ford burgher,  redolent  of  onions,  profane  in  that  way  the  velvet 
cheek  of  Rose  Salterne. 

So,  one  day,  he  offered  his  salute  in  like  wise ; but  he  did 
it  when  she  was  alone ; for  something  within  (perhaps  a guilty 
conscience)  whispered  that  it  might  be  hardly  politic  to  make 
the  proffer  in  her  father’s  presence  : however,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, he  received  a prompt  though  quiet  rebuff. 

“ No,  sir;  you  should  know  that  my  cheek  is  not  for  you.” 
“ Why,”  said  he,  stifling  his  anger,  “ it  seems  free  enough  to 
every  counter-jumper  in  the  town  !” 

Was  it  love,  or  simple  innocence,  which  made  her  answer 
apologetically  ? 

“ True,  Don  Guzman  ; but  they  are  my  equals.” 

“And  I?” 

“You  are  a nobleman,  sir  ; and  should  recollect  that  you 
are  one.” 

“Well,”  said  he,  forcing  a sneer,  “it  is  a strange  taste  to 
prefer  the  shopkeeper  ! ” 

“Prefer1?”  said  she,  forcing  a laugh  in  her  turn;  “it  is  a 
mere  form  among  us.  They  are  nothing  to  me,  I can  tell  you.” 
“And  I,  then,  less  than  nothing V’ 

Rose  turned  very  red ; but  she  had  nerve  to  answer — 
“And  why  should  you  be  anything  to  me1?  You  have  con- 
descended too  much,  sir,  already  to  us,  in  giving  us  many  a — 
many  a pleasant  evening.  You  must  condescend  no  further. 
You  wrong  yourself,  sir,  and  me  too.  No,  sir;  not  a step  nearer! 

- — I will  not ! A salute  between  equals  means  nothing : but 
between  you  and  me — I vow,  sir,  if  you  do  not  leave  me  this 
moment,  I will  complain  to  my  father.” 

“Do  so,  madam  ! I care  as  little  for  your  father’s  anger,  as 
you  for  my  misery.” 

“Cruel !”  cried  Rose,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

“I  love  you,  madam!”  cried  he,  throwing  himself  at  her 
feet.  “ I adore  you  ! Never  mention  differences  of  rank  to  me 
more ; for  I have  forgotten  them  ; forgotten  all  but  love,  all  but 
you,  madam  ! My  light,  my  lodestar,  my  princess,  my  goddess ! 
You  see  where  my  pride  is  gone ; remember  I plead  as  a sup- 
pliant, a beggar — though  one  who  may  be  one  day  a prince,  a 
king ! ay,  and  a prince  now,  a very  Lucifer  of  pride  to  all  ex- 
cept to  you;  to  you  a wretch  who  grovels  at  your  feet,  and  cries, 

‘ Have  mercy  on  me,  on  my  loneliness,  my  homelessness,  my 
friendlessness.’  Ah,  Rose  (madam  I should  have  said,  forgive 


216  HOW  MR.  SALTERNE  BAITED  HIS  HOOK.  [ciiAP.  X. 

the  madness  of  my  passion),  you  know  not  the  heart  which  you 
break.  Cold  Northerns,  you  little  dream  how  a Spaniard  can 
love.  Love1?  Worship,  rather;  as  I worship  you,  madam;  as 
I bless  the  captivity  which  brought  me  the  sight  of  you,  and 
the  ruin  which  first  made  me  rich.  Is  it  possible,  Saints  and 
Virgin ! do  my  own  tears  deceive  my  eyes,  or  are  there  tears, 
too,  in  those  radiant  orbs  ?” 

“ Go,  sir  !”  cried  poor  Rose,  recovering  herself  suddenly ; 
“ and  let  me  never  see  you  more.”  And,  as  a last  chance  for 
life,  she  darted  out  of  the  room. 

“Your  slave  obeys  you,  madam,  and  kisses  your  hands  and 
feet  for  ever  and  a day,”  said  the  cunning  Spaniard,  and  draw- 
ing himself  up,  walked  serenely  out  of  the  house ; while  she, 
poor  fool,  peeped  after  him  out  of  her  window  upstairs,  and  her 
heart  sank  within  her  as  she  watched  his  jaunty  and  careless 
air. 

How  much  of  that  rhapsody  of  his  was  honest,  how  much 
premeditated,  I cannot  tell : though  she,  poor  child,  began  to 
fancy  that  it  was  all  a set  speech,  when  she  found  that  he  had 
really  taken  her  at  her  word,  and  set  foot  no  more  within  her 
father’s  hou^e.  So  she  reproached  herself  for  the  crudest  of 
women ; settled,  that  if  he  died,  she  should  be  his  murderess  ; 
watched  for  him  to  pass  at  the  window,  in  hopes  that  he  might 
look  up,  and  then  hid  herself  in  terror  the  moment  he  appeared 
round  the  corner  ; and  so  forth,  and  so  forth  : — one  love-making 
is  very  like  another,  and  has  been  so,  I suppose,  since  that  first 
blessed  marriage  in  Paradise,  when  Adam  and  Eve  made  no 
love  at  all,  but  found  it  ready-made  for  them  from  heaven  ; and 
really  it  is  fiddling  while  Rome  is  burning,  to  spend  more  pages 
over  the  sorrows  of  poor  little  Rose  Salterne,  while  the  destinies 
of  Europe  are  hanging  on  the  marriage  between  Elizabeth  and 
Anjou  : and  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  is  stirring  heaven  and  earth, 
and  Devonshire,  of  course,  as  the  most  important  portion  of  the 
said  earth,  to  carry  out  his  dormant  patent,  which  will  give  to 
England  in  due  time  (we  are  not  jesting  now)  Newfoundland, 
Nova  Scotia,  and  Canada,  and  the  Northern  States;  and  to 
Humphrey  Gilbert  himself  something  better  than  a new  world, 
namely  another  world,  and  a crown  of  glory  therein  which  never 
fades  away. 


CHAP.  XI.]  HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE  217 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE. 

“ Misguided,  rash,  intruding  fool,  farewell  ! 

Thou  see’st  to  be  too  tmsy  is  some  danger.” 

Hamlet. 

It  is  the  spring  of  1582-3.  The  grey  March  skies  are  curdling 
hard  and  high  above  black  mountain  peaks.  The  keen  March 
wind  is  sweeping  harsh  and  dry  across  a dreary  sheet  of  bog, 
still  red  and  yellow  with  the  stains  of  winter  frost.  One  brown 
knoll  alone  breaks  the  waste,  and  on  it  a few  leafless  wind-clipt 
oaks  stretch  their  moss-grown  arms,  like  giant  hairy  spiders, 
above  a desolate  pool  which  crisps  and  shivers  in  the  biting 
breeze,  while  from  beside  its  brink  rises  a mournful  cry,  and 
sweeps  down,  faint  and  fitful,  amid  the  howding  of  the  wind. 

Along  the  brink  of  the  bog,  picking  their  road  among 
crumbling  rocks  and  green  spongy  springs,  a company  of 
English  soldiers  are  pushing  fast,  clad  cap-a-pid  in  helmet  and 
quilted  jerkin,  with  arquebus  on  shoulder,  and  pikes  trailing 
behind  them  ; stern  steadfast  men,  who,  two  years  since,  were 
working  the  guns  at  Smerwick  fort,  and  have  since  then  seen 
many  a bloody  fray,  and  shall  see  more  before  they  die.  Two 
captains  ride  before  them  on  shaggy  ponies,  the  taller  in  armour, 
stained  and  rusted  with  many  a storm  and  fray,  the  other  in 
brilliant  inlaid  cuirass  and  helmet,  gaudy  sash  and  plume,  and 
swTord  hilt  glittering  with  gold,  a quaint  contrast  enough  to  the 
meagre  garron  which  carries  him  and  his  finery.  Beside  them, 
secured  by  a cord  which  a pikeman  has  fastened  to  his  own 
wrist,  trots  a bare-legged  Irish  kerne,  whose  only  clothing  is  his 
ragged  yellow  mantle,  and  the  unkempt  “ glib 55  of  hair,  through 
which  his  eyes  peer  out,  right  and  left,  in  mingled  fear  and 
sullenness.  He  is  the  guide  of  the  company,  in  their  hunt  after 
the  rebel  Baltinglas ; and  woe  to  him  if  he  play  them  false. 

“ A pleasant  country,  truly,  Captain  Raleigh,”  says  the 
dingy  officer  to  the  gay  one.  “I  wonder  how,  having  once 
escaped  from  it  to  Whitehall,  you  have  the  courage  to  come 
back  and  spoil  that  gay  suit  with  bog-water  and  mud.” 

“A  very  pleasant  country,  my  friend  Amy  as;  what  you 
say  in  jest,  I say  in  earnest.” 

“ Hillo  ! Our  tastes  have  changed  places.  I am  sick  of  it 


218 


HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH 


[CHAP.  xi. 

already,  as  you  foretold.  Would  Heaven  that  I could  hear  of 
some  adventure  Westward-ho  ! and  find  these  big  bones  swing- 
ing in  a hammock  once  more.  Pray  what  has  made  you  so 
suddenly  in  love  with  bog  and  rock,  that  you  come  back  to 
tramp  them  with  us  ? I thought  you  had  spied  out  the  naked- 
ness of  the  land  long  ago.’’ 

“ Bog  and  rock  ? Nakedness  of  the  land  ? What  is  needed 
here  but  prudence  and  skill,  justice  and  law  ? This  soil,  see,  is 
fat  enough,  if  men  were  here  to  till  it.  These  rocks — who 
knows  what  minerals  they  may  hold1?  I hear  of  gold  and 
jewels  found  already  in  divers  parts ; and  Daniel,  my  brother 
Humphrey’s  German  assayer,  assures  me  that  these  rocks  are 
of  the  very  same  kind  as  those  which  yield  the  silver  in  Peru. 
Tut,  man  ! if  her  gracious  Majesty  would  but  bestow  on  me 
some  few  square  miles  of  this  same  wilderness,  in  seven  years’ 
time  I would  make  it  blossom  like  the  rose,  by  God’s  good  help.” 
“ Humph  ! I should  be  more  inclined  to  stay  here,  then.” 

“ So  you  shall,  and  be  my  agent,  if  you  will,  to  get  in  my 
mine- rents  and  my  corn-rents,  and  my  fishery -rents,  eh  1 Could 
you  keep  accounts,  old  knight  of  the  bear’s-paw  V’ 

“ Well  enough  for  such  short  reckonings  as  yours  would  be, 
on  the  profit  side  at  least.  No,  no — I’d  sooner  carry  lime  all 
my  days  from  Cauldy  to  Bideford,  than  pass  another  twelve- 
month  in  the  land  of  Ire,  among  the  children  of  wrath.  There 
is  a curse  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  I believe.” 

“ There  is  no  curse  upon  it,  save  the  old  one  of  man’s  sin — 
‘ Thorns  and  thistles  it  shall  bring  forth  to  thee.’  But  if  you 
root  up  the  thorns  and  thistles,  Amyas,  I know  no  fiend  who 
can  prevent  your  growing  wheat  instead ; and  if  you  till  the 
ground  like  a man,  you  plough  and  harrow  away  nature’s  curse, 
and  other  fables  of  the  schoolmen  beside,”  added  he,  in  that 
daring  fashion  which  afterwards  obtained  for  him  (and  never 
did  good  Christian  less  deserve  it)  the  imputation  of  Atheism. 

“ It  is  sword  and  bullet,  I think,  that  are  needed  here,  before 
plough  and  harrow,  to  clear  away  some  of  the  curse.  Until  a 
few  more  of  these  Irish  lords  are  gone  where  the  Desmonds  are, 
there  is  no  peace  for  Ireland.” 

“ Humph  ! not  so  far  wrong,  I fear.  And  yet — Irish 
lords  1 These  very  traitors  are  better  English  blood  than  we 
who  hunt  them  down.  When  Yeo  here  slew  the  Desmond  the 
other  day,  he  no  more  let  out  a drop  of  Irish  blood,  than  if  he 
had  slain  the  Lord  Deputy  himself.” 

“ His  blood  be  on  his  own  head,”  said  Yeo.  “ He  looked 


MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE. 


219 


CHAP.  XI.] 


as  wild  a savage  as  the  worst  of  them,  more  shame  to  him  ; 
and  the  Ancient  here  had  nigh  cut  off  his  arm  before  he  told 
us  who  he  was  : and  then,  your  worship,  having  a price  upon 
his  head,  and  like  to  bleed  to  death  too ” 

“ Enough,  enough,  good  fellow,”  said  Raleigh.  “ Thou  hast 
done  what  was  given  thee  to  do.  Strange,  Amyas,  is  it  not  ? 
Noble  Normans  sunk  into  savages — Hibernis  ipsis  hiberniores  ! 
Is  there  some  uncivilising  venom  in  the  air  ?” 

“ Some  venom,  at  least,  which  makes  Englishmen  traitors. 
But  the  Irish  themselves  are  well  enough,  if  their  tyrants  would 
let  them  be.  See  now,  what  more  faithful  liegeman  has  her 
Majesty  than  the  Inchiquin,  who,  they  say,  is  Prince  of 
Themond,  and  should  be  king  of  all  Ireland,  if  every  man  had 
his  right  ?” 

“Don’t  talk  of  rights  in  the  land  of  wrongs,  man.  But 
the  Inchiquin  knows  well  that  the  true  Irish  Esau  has  no 
worse  enemy  than  his  supplanter,  the  Norman  Jacob.  And 
yet,  Amyas,  are  even  these  men  worse  than  we  might  be,  if  we 
had  been  bred  up  masters  over  the  bodies  and  souls  of  men,  in 
some  remote  land  where  law  and  older  had  never  come1?  Look 
at  this  Desmond,  brought  up  a savage  among  savages,  a Papist 
among  Papists,  a despot  among  slaves  ; a thousand  easy  maidens 
deeming  it  honour  to  serve  his  pleasure,  a thousand  wild  ruffians 
deeming  it  piety  to  fulfil  his  revenge  : and  let  him  that  is  with- 
out sin  among  us  cast  the  first  stone.” 

“Ay,”  went  on  Raleigh  to  himself,  as  the  conversation 
dropped.  “ What  hadst  thou  been,  Raleigh,  hadst  thou  been 
that  Desmond  whose  lands  thou  now  desirest  ? What  wilt 
thou  be  when  thou  hast  them  ? Will  thy  children  sink  down- 
wards, as  these  noble  barons  sank  ? Will  the  genius  of  tyranny 
and  falsehood  find  soil  within  thy  heart  to  grow  and  ripen  fruit  ? 
What  guarantee  hast  thou  for  doing  better  here  than  those  who 
went  before  thee  ? And  yet : cannot  I do  justice,  and  love 
mercy?  Can  I not  establish  plantations,  build  and  sow,  and 
make  the  desert  valleys  laugh  with  corn?  Shall  I not  have 
my  Spenser  with  me,  to  fill  me  with  all  noble  thoughts,  and 
raise  my  soul  to  his  heroic  pitch  ? Is  not  this  true  knight- 
errantry,  to  redeem  to  peace  and  use,  and  to  the  glory  of  that 
glorious  Queen  whom  God  has  given  to  me,  a generous  soil  and 
a more  generous  race?  Trustful  and  tender-hearted  they  are — 
none  more ; and  if  they  be  fickle  and  passionate,  will  not  that 
very  softness  of  temper,  which  makes  them  so  easily  led  to  evil, 
make  them  as  easy  to  be  led  towards  good  ? Yes — here,  away 


220  HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH  [chap.  xi. 

from  courts,  among  a people  who  should  bless  me  as  their  bene- 
factor and  deliverer — what  golden  days  might  be  mine  ! And 
yet — is  this  but  another  angel’s  mask  from  that  same  cunning 
fiend  Ambition’s  stage  ? And  will  my  house  be  indeed  the  house 
of  God,  the  foundations  of  which  are  loyalty,  and  its  bulwarks 
righteousness,  and  not  the  house  of  Fame,  whose  walls  are  of 
the  soap-bubble,  and  its  floor  a sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire  ? 
I would  be  good  and  great — When  will  the  day  come  when  I 
shall  be  content  to  be  good,  and  yet  not  great,  like  this  same 
simple  Leigh,  toiling  on  by  my  side  to  do  his  duty,  with  no  more 
thought  for  the  morrow  than  the  birds  of  God  'l  Greatness  1 I 
have  tasted  that  cup  within  the  last  twelve  months ; do  I not 
know  that  it  is,  sweet  in  the  mouth,  but  bitter  in  the  belly  1 
Greatness?  And  was  not  Essex  great,  and  John  of  Austria 
great,  and  Desmond  great,  whose  race,  but  three  short  years 
ago,  had  stood  for  ages  higher  than  I shall  ever  hope  to  climb 
— castles,  and  lands,  and  slaves  by  thousands,  and  five  hundred 
gentlemen  of  his  name,  who  had  vowed  to  forswear  God  before 
they  forswore  him  ; and  well  have  they  kept  their  vow  ! And 
now,  dead  in  a turf-hovel,  like  a coney  in  a burrow ! Leigh, 
what  noise  was  that  ?” 

“An  Irish  howl,  I fancied  : but  it  came  from  off  the  bog; 
it  may  be  only  a plover’s  cry.” 

“ Something  not  quite  right,  Sir  Captain,  to  my  mind,”  said 
the  Ancient.  “ They  have  ugly  stories  here  of  pucks  and  ban- 
shees, and  what  not  of  ghosts.  There  it  was  again,  wailing 
just  like  a woman.  They  say  the  banshee  cried  all  night  before 
Desmond  was  slain.” 

“ Perhaps,  then,  this  one  may  be  crying  for  Baltinglas  ; for 
his  turn  is  likely  to  come  next — not  that  I believe  in  such  old 
wives’  tales.” 

“ Shamus,  my  man,”  said  Amyas  to  the  guide,  “ do  you 
hear  that  cry  in  the  bog  1” 

The  guide  put  on  the  most  stolid  of  faces,  and  answered  in 
broken  English  : 

“ Shamus  hear  nought.  Perhaps — what  you  call  him  ? — - 
fishing  in  ta  pool.” 

“ An  otter,  he  means,  and  I believe  he  is  right.  Stay, 
no  ! Did  you  not  hear  it  then,  Shamus  ? It  was  a woman’s 
voice.” 

“ Shamus  is  shick  in  his  ears  ever  since  Christmas.” 

“ Shamus  will  go  after  Desmond  if  he  lies,”  said  Amyas. 
“ Ancient,  we  had  better  send  a few  men  to  see  what  it  is ; 


CHAP.  XI.]  MET  THE  POPE^'S  LEGATE.  221 

there  may  be  a poor  soul  taken  by  robbers,  or  perhaps  starving 
to  death,  as  I have  seen  many  a one.” 

“ And  I too,  poor  wretches ; and  by  no  fault  of  their  own 
or  ours  either  : but  if  their  lords  will  fall  to  quarrelling,  and 
then  drive  each  other’s  cattle,  and  waste  each  other’s  lands, 
sir,  you  know ” 

“I  know,”  said  Amyas  impatiently;  “why  dost  not  take 
the  men,  and  go  ?” 

“ Cry  you  mercy,  noble  Captain  : but — I fear  nothing  born 
of  woman.” 

“ Well,  what  of  that  V’  said  Amyas,  with  a smile. 

“ But  these  pucks,  sir.  The  wild  Irish  do  say  that  they 
haunt  the  pools ; and  they  do  no  manner  of  harm,  sir,  when 
you  are  coming  up  to  them  ; but  when  you  are  past,  sir,  they 
jump  on  your  back  like  to  apes,  sir, — and  who  can  tackle  that 
manner  of  fiend  ?” 

“ Why,  then,  by  thine  own  showing,  Ancient,”  said  Raleigh, 
“ thou  may’st  go  and  see  all  safely  enough,  and  then  if  the 
puck  jumps  on  thee  as  thou  comest  back,  just  run  in  with  him 
here,  and  I’ll  buy  him  of  thee  for  a noble ; or  thou  may’st  keep 
him  in  a cage,  and  make  money  in  London  by  showing  him  for 
a monster.” 

“ Good  heavens  forefend,  Captain  Raleigh ! but  you  talk 
rashly  ! But  if  I must,  Captain  Leigh — 

‘ Where  duty  calls 
To  brazen  walls, 

How  base  the  slave  who  flinches.’ 

Lads,  who’ll  follow  me1?” 

“ Thou  askest  for  volunteers,  as  if  thou  wert  to  lead  a for- 
lorn hope.  Pull  away  at  the  usquebaugh,  man,  and  swallow 
Dutch  courage,  since  thine  English  is  oozed  away.  Stay,  I’ll 
go  myself.” 

“ And  I with  you,”  said  Raleigh.  “ As  the  queen’s  true 
knight-errant,  I am  bound  to  be  behindhand  in  no  adventure. 
Who  knows  but  we  may  find  a wicked  magician,  just  going  to 
cut  off  the  head  of  some  saffron -mantled  princess?”  and  he 
dismounted. 

“ Oh,  sirs,  sirs,  to  endanger  your  precious ” 

“ Pooh,”  said  Raleigh.  “ I wear  an  amulet,  and  have  a 
spell  of  art-magic  at  my  tongue’s  end,  whereby,  Sir  Ancient, 
neither  can  a ghost  see  me,  nor  I see  them.  Come  with  us, 
Yeo,  the  Desmond -slayer,  and  we  will  shame  the  devil,  or  be 
shamed  by  him.” 


222  HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH  [chap.  XL 

“ He  may  shame  me,  sir,  but  he  will  never  frighten  me,” 
quoth  Yeo ; “ but  the  bog,  Captains  ?” 

“ Tut ! Devonshire  men,  and  heath-trotters  born,  and  not 
know  our  way  over  a peat  moor !” 

And  the  three  strode  away. 

They  splashed  and  scrambled  for  some  quarter  of  a mile  to 
the  knoll,  while  the  cry  became  louder  and  louder  as  they 
neared. 

“ That’s  neither  ghost  nor  otter,  sirs,  but  a true  Irish  howl, 
as  Captain  Leigh  said ; and  I’ll  warrant  Master  Shamus  knew 
as  much  long  ago,”  said  Yeo. 

And  in  fact,  they  could  now  hear  plainly  the  “ Ochone, 
Ochonorie,”  of  some  wild  woman ; and  scrambling  over  the 
boulders  of  the  knoll,  in  another  minute  came  full  upon  her. 

She  was  a young  girl,  sluttish  and  unkempt,  of  course,  but 
fair  enough  : her  only  covering,  as  usual,  was  the  ample  yellow 
mantle.  There  she  sat  upon  a stone,  tearing  her  black  dis- 
hevelled hair,  and  every  now  and  then  throwing  up  her  head, 
and  bursting  into  a long  mournful  cry,  “ for  all  the  world,”  as 
Yeo  said,  “ like  a dumb  four-footed  hound,  and  not  a Christian 
soul.” 

On  her  knees  lay  the  head  of  a man  of  middle  age,  in  the 
long  soutane  of  a Romish  priest.  One  look  at  the  attitude  of 
his  limbs  told  them  that  he  was  dead. 

The  two  paused  in  awe ; and  Raleigh’s  spirit,  susceptible 
of  all  poetical  images,  felt  keenly  that  strange  scene, — the 
bleak  and  bitter  sky,  the  shapeless  bog,  the  stunted  trees,  the 
savage  girl  alone  with  the  corpse  in  that  utter  desolation. 
And  as  she  bent  her  head  over  the  still  face,  and  called  wildly 
to  him  who  heard  her  not,  and  then,  utterly  unmindful  of  the 
intruders,  sent  up  again  that  dreary  wail  into  the  dreary  air, 
they  felt  a sacred  horror,  which  almost  made  them  turn  away, 
and  leave  her  unquestioned : but  Yeo,  whose  nerves  were  of 
tougher  fibre,  asked  quietly — 

“ Shall  I go  and  search  the  fellow,  Captain'?” 

“ Better,  I think,”  said  Amy  as. 

Raleigh  went  gently  to  the  girl,  and  spoke  to  her  in 
English.  She  looked  up  at  him,  his  armour  and  his  plume, 
with  wide  and  wondering  eyes,  and  then  shook  her  head,  and 
returned  to  her  lamentation. 

Raleigh  gently  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  lifted  her  up 
while  Yeo  and  Amyas  bent  over  the  corpse. 

It  was  the  body  of  a large  and  coarse-featured  man  : but 


Sir  Walter  Raleigh . 


E2H 


CHAP.  XI.]  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE.  223 

wasted  and  shrunk  as  if  by  famine  to  a very  skeleton.  The 
hands  and  legs  were  cramped  up,  and  the  trunk  bowed 
together,  as  if  the  man  had  died  of  cold  or  famine.  Yeo  drew 
back  the  clothes  from  the  thin  bosom,  while  the  girl  screamed 
and  wept,  but  made  no  effort  to  stop  him. 

“Ask  her  who  it  is]  Yeo,  you  know  a little  Irish,”  said 
Amyas. 

He  asked,  but  the  girl  made  no  answer.  “ The  stubborn 
jade  won’t  tell,  of  course,  sir.  If  she  were  but  a man,  I’d 
make  her  soon  enough.” 

“ Ask  her  who  killed  him  ?” 

“No  one,  she  says ; and  I believe  she  says  true,  for  I can 
find  no  wound.  The  man  has  been  starved,  sirs,  as  I am  a sin- 
ful man.  God  help  him,  though  he  is  a priest ; and  yet  he 
seems  full  enough  down  below.  What’s  here  ? A big  pouch, 
sirs,  stuffed  full  of  somewhat.” 

“ Hand  it  hither.” 

The  two  opened  the  pouch ; papers,  papers,  but  no  scrap  of 
food.  Then  a parchment.  They  unrolled  it. 

“ Latin,”  said  Amyas  ; “you  must  construe,  Don  Scholar.” 

“ Is  it  possible  V’  said  Raleigh,  after  reading  a moment. 
“ This  is  indeed  a prize  ! This  is  Saunders  himself]” 

Yeo  sprang  up  from  the  body  as  if  he  had  touched  an  adder. 
“ Nick  Saunders,  the  Legacy,  sir  ]” 

“ Nicholas  Saunders,  the  Legate.” 

“ The  villain  ! why  did  not  he  wait  for  me  to  have  the  com- 
fort of  killing  him  ? Dog  !”  and  he  kicked  the  corpse  with  his 
foot. 

“ Quiet ! quiet  ! Remember  the  poor  girl,”  said  Amyas,  as 
she  shrieked  at  the  profanation,  while  Raleigh  went  on,  half  to 
himself.  “Yes,  this  is  Saunders.  Misguided  fool,  and  this  is 
the  end  ! To  this  thou  hast  come  with  thy  plotting  and  thy 
conspiring,  thy  lying  and  thy  boasting,  consecrated  banners  and 
Pope’s  bulls,  Agnus  Deis  and  holy  waters,  the  blessing  of  all 
saints  and  angels,  and  thy  Lady  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  ! 
Thou  hast  called  on  the  Heavens  to  judge  between  thee  and  us, 
and  here  is  their  answer  ! What  is  that  in  his  hand,  Amyas  ? 
Give  it  me.  A pastoral  epistle  to  the  Earl  of  Ormond,  and  all 
nobles  of  the  realm  of  Ireland  ; ‘ To  all  who  groan  beneath  the 
loathsome  tyranny  of  an  illegitimate  adulteress,  etc.,  Nicholas 
Saunders,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Legate,  etc.’  Bah  ! and  this 
forsooth  was  thy  last  meditation  ! Incorrigible  pedant ! Yictrix 
causa  Diis  placuit,  sed  victa  Catoni !” 


224 


HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH 


[OHAP.  XI. 


He  ran  his  eye  through  various  other  documents,  written  in 
the  usual  strain : full  of  huge  promises  from  the  Pope  and  the 
King  of  Spain ; frantic  and  filthy  slanders  against  Elizabeth, 
Burghley,  Leicester,  Essex  (the  elder),  Sidney,  and  every  great 
and  good  man  (never  mind  of  which  party)  who  then  upheld 
the  commonweal ; bombastic  attempts  to  terrify  weak  con- 
sciences, by  denouncing  endless  fire  against  those  who  opposed 
the  true  faith ; fulsome  ascriptions  of  martyrdom  and  sanctity 
to  every  rebel  and  traitor  who  had  been  hanged  for  the  last 
twenty  years ; wearisome  arguments  about  the  bull  In  Coena 
Domini,  Elizabeth’s  excommunication  the  nullity  of  English 
law,  the  sacred  duty  of  rebellion,  the  right  to  kill  a prince 
impenitently  heretical,  and  the  like  insanities  and  villanies, 
which  may  be  read  at  large  in  Camden,  the  Phoenix  Britannicus, 
Fox’s  Martyrs,  or,  surest  of  all,  in  the  writings  of  the’  worthies 
themselves. 

With  a gesture  of  disgust,  Raleigh  crammed  the  foul  stuff 
back  again  into  the  pouch.  Taking  it  with  them,  they  walked 
back  to  the  company,  and  then  remounting,  marched  away  once 
more  towards  the  lands  of  the  Desmonds ; and  the  girl  was 
left  alone  with  the  dead. 

An  hour  had  passed,  when  another  Englishman  was  stand- 
ing by  the  wailing  girl,  and  round  him  a dozen  shockheaded 
kernes,  skene  on  thigh  and  javelin  in  hand,  were  tossing  about 
their  tawny  rags,  and  adding  their  lamentations  to  those  of  the 
lonely  watcher. 

The  Englishman  was  Eustace  Leigh ; a layman  still,  but 
still  at  his  old  work.  By  two  years  of  intrigue  and  labour 
from  one  end  of  Ireland  to  the  other,  he  had  been  trying  to 
satisfy  his  conscience  for  rejecting  “the  higher  calling”  of  the 
celibate ; for  mad  hopes  still  lurked  within  that  fiery  heart. 
His  brow  was  wrinkled  now ; his  features  harshened ; the  scar 
upon  his  face,  and  the  slight  distortion  which  accompanied  it, 
was  hidden  by  a bushy  beard  from  all  but  himself ; and  he 
never  forgot  it  for  a day,  nor  forgot  who  had  given  it  to  him. 

He  had  been  with  Desmond,  wandering  in  moor  and  moss 
for  many  a month  in  danger  of  his  life ; and  now  he  was  on  his 
way  to  James  Fitz-Eustace,  Lord  Baltinglas,  to  bring  him  the 
news  of  Desmond’s  death ; and  with  him  a remnant  of  the 
clan,  who  were  either  too  stouthearted,  or  too  desperately 
stained  with  crime,  to  seek  peace  from  the  English,  and,  as 
their  fellows  did,  find  it  at  once  and  freely. 

There  Eustace  stood,  looking  down  on  all  that  was  left  of 


chap,  xi.]  met  the  pope’s  legate.  225 

the  most  sacred  personage  of  Ireland ; the  man  who,  as  he  once 
had  hoped,  was  to  regenerate  his  native  land,  and  bring  the 
proud  island  of  the  West  once  more  beneath  that  gentle  yoke, 
in  which  united  Christendom  laboured  for  the  commonweal  of 
the  universal  Church.  There  he  was,  and  with  him  all  Eustace’s 
dreams,  in  the  very  heart  of  that  country  which  he  had  vowed, 
and  believed  as  he  vowed,  was  ready  to  rise  in  arms  as  one 
man,  even  to  the  baby  at  the  breast  (so  he  had  said),  in  ven- 
geance against  the  Saxon  heretic,  and  sweep  the  hated  name  of 
Englishman  into  the  deepest  abysses  of  the  surge  which  walled 
her  coasts;  with  Spain  and  the  Pope  to  back  him,  and  the 
wealth  of  the  Jesuits  at  his  command ; in  the  midst  of  faithful 
Catholics,  valiant  soldiers,  nohlemen  who  had  pledged  them- 
selves to  die  for  the  cause,  serfs  who  worshipped  him  as  a 
demigod — starved  to  death  in  a bog ! It  was  a pretty  plain 
verdict  on  the  reasonableness  of  his  expectations ; but  not  to 
Eustace  Leigh. 

It  was  a failure,  of  course ; but  it  was  an  accident ; indeed, 
to  have  been  expected,  in  a wicked  world  whose  prince  and 
master,  as  all  knew,  was  the  devil  himself ; indeed,  proof  of 
the  righteousness  of  the  cause — for  when  had  the  true  faith 
been  other  than  persecuted  and  trampled  under  foot  ? If  one 
came  to  think  of  it  with  eyes  purified  from  the  tears  of  carnal 
impatience,  what  was  it  but  a glorious  martyrdom  ? 

“Blest  Saunders  I”  murmured  Eustace  Leigh;  “let  me  die 
the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  this ! 
Ora  pro  me,  most  excellent  martyr,  while  I dig  thy  grave  upon 
this  lonely  moor,  to  wait  there  for  thy  translation  to  one  of 
those  stately  shrines,  which,  cemented  by  the  blood  of  such  as 
thee,  shall  hereafter  rise  restored  toward  heaven,  to  make  this 
land  once  more  ‘ The  Isle  of  Saints.’” 

The  corpse  was  buried ; a few  prayers  said  hastily ; and 
Eustace  Leigh  was  away  again,  not  now  to  find  Baltinglas ; for 
it  was  more  than  his  life  was  worth.  The  girl  had  told  him  of 
the  English  soldiers  who  had  passed,  and  he  knew  that  they 
would  reach  the  earl  probably  before  he  did.  The  game  was 
up ; all  was  lost.  So  he  retraced  his  steps,  as  a desperate 
resource,  to  the  last  place  where  he  would  be  looked  for : and 
after  a month  of  disguising,  hiding,  and  other  expedients,  found 
himself  again  in  his  native  county  of  Devon,  while  Fitz-Eustace 
Viscount  Baltinglas  had  taken  ship  for  Spain,  having  got  little 
by  his  famous  argument  to  Ormond  in  behalf  of  his  joining  the 
Church  of  Rome,  “ Had  not  thine  ancestor,  blessed  Thomas  of 

Q 


226 


HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH 


[chap.  xi. 

Canterbury,  died  for  the  Church  of  Rome,  thou  hadst  never  been 
Earl  of  Ormond.”  The  premises  were  certainly  sounder  than 
those  of  his  party  were  wont  to  be ; for  it  was  to  expiate  the 
murder  of  that  turbulent  hero  that  the  Ormond  lands  had 
been  granted  by  Henry  II.  : but  as  for  the  conclusion  there- 
from, it  was  much  on  a par  with  the  rest. 

And  now  let  us  return  to  Raleigh  and  Amyas,  as  they  jog 
along  their  weary  road.  They  have  many  things  to  talk  of ; 
for  it  is  but  three  days  since  they  met. 

Amyas,  as  you  see,  is  coming  fast  into  Raleigh’s  old  opinion 
of  Ireland.  Raleigh,  under  the  inspiration  of  a possible  grant 
of  Desmond’s  lands,  looks  on  bogs  and  rocks  transfigured  by 
his  own  hopes  and  fancy,  as  if  by  the  glory  of  a rainbow.  He 
looked  at  all  things  so,  noble  fellow,  even  thirty  years  after, 
when  old,  worn  out,  and  ruined ; well  for  him  had  it  been 
otherwise,  and  his  heart  had  grown  old  with  his  head  ! Amyas, 
who  knows  nothing  about  Desmond’s  lands,  is  puzzled  at  the 
change. 

“ Why,  what  is  this,  Raleigh  ? You  are  like  children 
sitting  in  the  market-place,  and  nothing  pleases  you.  You 
wanted  to  get  to  Court,  and  you  have  got  there ; and  are  lord 
and  master,  I hear,  or  something  very  like  it,  already — and  as 
soon  as  Fortune  stuffs  your  mouth  full  of  sweatmeats,  do  you 
turn  informer  on  her-?” 

Raleigh  laughed  insignificantly  : but  was  silent. 

“ And  how  is  your  friend  Mr.  Secretary  Spenser,  w’ho  was 
with  us  at  Smerwick?” 

“ Spenser  ? He  has  thriven  even  as  I have ; and  he  has 
found,  as  I have,  that  in  making  one  friend  at  Court  you  make 
ten  foes ; but  ‘ Oderint  Dum  metuant  ’ is  no  more  my  motto 
than  his,  Leigh.  I want  to  be  great — great  I am  already,  they 
say,  if  princes’  favour  can  swell  the  frog  into  an  ox  ; but  I 
want  to  be  liked,  loved — I want  to  see  people  smile  when  I 
enter.” 

“ So  they  do,  I’ll  warrant,”  said  Amyas. 

“So  do  hyenas,”  said  Raleigh;  “grin  because  they  are 
hungry,  and  I may  throw  them  a bone;  I’ll  throw  you  one 
now,  old  lad,  or  rather  a good  sirloin  of  beef,  for  the  sake  of 
your  smile.  That’s  honest,  at  least,  I’ll  warrant,  whosoever’s 
else  is  not.  Have  you  heard  of  my  brother  Humphrey’s  new 
project  ?” 

“ How  should  I hear  anything  in  this  waste  howling 
wilderness?  ” 


CHAP.  XI.]  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE.  227 

“ Kiss  hands  to  the  wilderness,  then,  and  come  with  me  to 
Newfoundland !” 

“You  to  Newfoundland!” 

“ Yes.  I to  Newfoundland,  unless  my  little  matter  here  is 
settled  at  once.  Gloriana  don’t  know  it,  and  shan’t  till  I’m 
off.  She’d  send  me  to  the  Tower,  I think,  if  she  caught  me 
playing  truant.  I could  hardly  get  leave  to  come  hither ; but 
I must  out,  and  try  my  fortune.  I am  over  ears  in  debt  already, 
and  siek  of  courts  and  courtiers.  Humphrey  must  go  next 
spring  and  take  .possession  of  his  kingdom  beyond  seas,  or  his 
patent  expires ; and  with  him  I go,  and  you  too,  my  circum- 
navigating giant.” 

And  then  Raleigh  expounded  to  Amyas  the  details  of  the 
great  Newfoundland  scheme,  which  whoso  will  may  read  in  the 
pages  of  Hakluyt. 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  Raleigh’s  half-brother,  held  a 
patent  for  “planting”  the  lands  of  Newfoundland  and  “Meta 
Incognita”  (Labrador).  He  had  attempted  a voyage  thither 
with  Raleigh  in  1578,  whereof  I never  could  find  any  news, 
save  that  he  came  back  again,  after  a heavy  brush  with  some 
Spanish  ships  (in  which  his  best  captain,  Mr.  Morgan,  was 
killed),  having  done  nothing,  and  much  impaired  his  own 
estate : but  now  he  had  collected  a large  sum ; Sir  Gilbert 
Peckham  of  London,  Mr.  Hayes  of  South  Devon,  and  various 
other  gentlemen,  of  whom  more  hereafter,  had  adventured  their 
money ; and  a considerable  colony  was  to  be  sent  out  the  next 
year,  with  miners,  assayers,  and,  what  was  more,  Parmenius 
Budaeus,  Frank’s  old  friend,  who  had  come  to  England  full  of 
thirst  to  see  the  wonders  of  the  New  World;  anc^  over  and 
above  this,  as  Raleigh  told  Amyas  in  strictest  secrecy,  Adrian 
Gilbert,  Humphrey’s  brother,  was  turning  every  stone  at  Court 
for  a patent  of  discovery  in  the  North-West ; and  this  New- 
foundland colony,  though  it  was  to  produce  gold,  silver, 
merchandise,  and  what  not,  was  but  a basis  of  operations,  a half- 
way house  from  whence  to  work  out  the  North-West  passage  to 
the  Indies — that  golden  dream,  as  fatal  to  English  valour  as 
the  Guiana  one  to  Spanish — and  yet  hardly,  hardly  to  be  re- 
gretted, when  we  remember  the  seamanship,  the  science,  the 
chivalry,  the  heroism,  unequalled  in  the  history  of  the  English 
nation,  which  it  has  called  forth  among  those  our  later  Arctic 
voyagers,  who  have  combined  the  knight-errantry  of  the  middle 
age  with  the  practical  prudence  of  the  modern,  and  dared  for 
duty  more  than  Cortez  or  Pizarro  dared  for  gold. 


228  HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH  [chap.  XI. 

Amyas,  simple  fellow,  took  all  in  greedily ; he  knew  enough 
of  the  dangers  of  the  Magellan  passage  to  appreciate  the  bound- 
less value  of  a road  to  the  East  Indies  which  would  (as  all 
supposed  then)  save  half  the  distance,  and  be  as  it  were  a 
private  possession  of  the  English,  safe  from  Spanish  interfer- 
ence ; and  he  listened  reverently  to  Sir  Humphrey’s  quaint 
proofs,  half  true,  half  fantastic,  of  such  a passage,  which  Raleigh 
detailed  to  him — of  the  Primum  Mobile,  and  its  diurnal  motion 
from  east  to  west,  in  obedience  to  which  the  sea-current  flowed 
westward  ever  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  being  unable 
to  pass  through  the  narrow  strait  between  South  America  and 
the  Antarctic  continent,  rushed  up  the  American  shore,  as  the 
Gulf  Stream,  and  poured  north-westward  between  Greenland 
and  Labrador  towards  Cathay  and  India ; of  that  most  crafty 
argument  of  Sir  Humphrey’s — how  Aristotle  in  his  book  De 
Mundo,  and  Simon  Gryneus  in  his  annotations  thereon,  declare 
that  the  world  (the  Old  World)  is  an  island,  compassed  by 
that  which  Homer  calls  the  river  Oceanus  ; ergo,  the  New 
World  is  an  island  also,  and  there  is  a North-West  passage ; of 
the  three  brothers  (names  unknown)  who  had  actually  made 
the  voyage,  and  named  what  was  afterwards  called  Davis’s 
Strait  after  themselves  : of  the  Indians  who  were  cast  ashore 
in  Germany  in  the  reign  of  Frederic  Barbarossa,  who,  as  Sir 
Humphrey  had  learnedly  proved  per  modum  tollendi,  could 
have  come  only  by  the  North-West;  and  above  all,  of  Salvaterra, 
the  Spaniard,  who  in  1568  had  told  Sir  Henry  Sidney  (Philip’s 
father),  there  in  Ireland,  how  he  had  spoken  with  a Mexican 
friar  named  Urdaneta,  who  had  himself  come  from  Mar  del 
Zur  (the  Pacific)  into  Germany  by  that  very  North-West  passage; 
at  which  last  Amyas  shook  his  head,  and  said  that  friars  were 
liars,  and  seeing  believing ; “ but  if  you  must  needs  have  an 
adventure,  you  insatiable  soul  you,  why  not  try  for  the  golden 
city  of  Manoa'?” 

“ Manoa  ?”  asked  Raleigh,  who  had  heard,  as  most  had,  dim 
rumours  of  the  place.  “ What  do  you  know  of  it  ?” 

Whereon  Amyas  told  him  all  that  he  had  gathered  from  the 
Spaniard ; and  Raleigh,  in  his  turn,  believed  every  word. 

“Humph!”  said  he  after  a long  silence.  “To  find  that 
golden  Emperor ; offer  him  help  and  friendship  from  the  Queen 
of  England;  defend,  him  against  the  Spaniards;  if  we  became 
strong  enough,  conquer  back  all  Peru  from  the  Popish  tyrants, 
and  reinstate  him  on  the  throne  of  the  Incas,  with  ourselves  for 
his  body-guard,  as  the  Norman  Varangians  were  to  the  effemin- 


CHAP.  XI.]  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE.  229 

ate  Emperors  of  Byzant — Hey,  Amyas  1 You  would  make  a 
gallant  chieftain  of  Yarangs.  We’ll  do  it,  lad  !” 

“We’ll  try,”  said  Amyas;  “but  we  must  be  quick,  for 
there’s  one  Berreo  sworn  to  carry  out  the  quest  to  the  death ; 
and  if  the  Spaniards  once  get  thither,  their  plan  of  works  will 
be  much  more  like  Pizarro’s  than  like  yours ; and  by  the  time 
we  come,  there  will  be  neither  gold  nor  city  left.” 

“Nor  Indians  either,  I’ll  warrant  the  butchers;  but,  lad,  I 
am  promised  to  Humphrey ; I have  a bark  fitting  out  already, 
and  all  I have,  and  more,  adventured  in  her ; so  Manoa  must 
wait.” 

“ It  will  wait  well  enough,  if  the  Spaniards  prosper  no  better 
on  the  Amazon  than  they  have  done ; but  must  I come  with 
you  % To  tell  the  truth,  I Um  quite  shore-sick,  and  to  sea  I 
must  go.  What  will  my  mother  say  V* 

“ I’ll  manage  thy  mother,”  said  Raleigh  ; and  so  he  did ; for, 
to  cut  a long  story  short,  he  went  back  the  month  after,  and  he 
not  only  took  home  letters  from  Amyas  to  his  mother,  but  so 
impressed  on  that  good  lady  the  enormous  profits  and  honours 
to  be  derived  from  Meta  Incognita,  and  (which  was  most  true) 
the  advantage  to  any  young  man  of  sailing  with  such  a general 
as  Humphrey  Gilbert,  most  pious  and  most  learned  of  seamen 
and  of  cavaliers,  beloved  and  honoured  above  all  his  compeers 
by  Queen  Elizabeth,  that  she  consented  to  Amyas’s  adventuring 
in  the  voyage  some  two  hundred  pounds  which  had  come  to  him 
as  his  share  of  prize-money,  after  the  ever  memorable  circum- 
navigation. For  Mrs.  Leigh,  be  it  understood,  was  no  longer 
at  Burrough  Court.  By  Frank’s  persuasion,  she  had  let  the  old 
place,  moved  up  to  London  with  her  eldest  son,  and  taken  for 
herself  a lodging  somewhere  by  Palace  Stairs,  which  looked  out 
upon  the  silver  Thames  (for  Thames  was  silver  then),  with  its 
busy  ferries  and  gliding  boats,  across  to  the  pleasant  fields  of 
Lambeth,  and  the  Archbishop’s  Palace,  and  the  wooded  Surrey 
hills ; and  there  she  spent  her  peaceful  days,  close  to  her  Frank 
and  to  the  Court.  Elizabeth  would  have  had  her  re-enter  it, 
offering  her  a small  place  in  the  household  : but  she  declined, 
saying  that  she  was  too  old  and  heart -weary  for  aught  but 
prayer.  So  by  prayer  she  lived,  under  the  sheltering  shadow 
of  the  tall  minster,  where  she  went  morn  and  even  to  worship, 
and  to  entreat  for  the  two  in  whom  her  heart  was  bound  up ; 
and  Frank  slipped  in  every  day  if  but  for  five  minutes,  and 
brought  with  him  Spenser,  or  Raleigh,  or  Dyer,  or  Budseus,  or 
sometimes  Sidney’s  self : and  there  was  talk  of  high  and  holy 


230 


HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH 


[chap.  XI. 

things,  of  which  none  could  speak  better  than  could  she ; and 
each  guest  went  from  that  hallowed  room  a humbler  and  yet  a 
loftier  man.  So  slipped  on  the  peaceful  months,  and  few  and 
far  between  came  Irish  letters,  for  Ireland  was  then  farther  from 
Westminster  than  is  the  Black  Sea  now ; but  those  were  days 
in  which  wives  and  mothers  had  learned  (as  they  have  learned 
once  more,  sweet  souls!)  to  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight  for 
those  they  love : and  Mrs.  Leigh  was  content  (though  when 
was  she  not  content  V)  to  hear  that  Amyas  was  winning  a good 
report  as  a brave  and  prudent  officer,  sober,  just,  and  faithful, 
beloved  and  obeyed  alike  by  English  soldiers  and  Irish  kernes. 

Those  two  years,  and  the  one  which  followed,  were  the 
happiest  which  she  had  known  since  her  husband's  death.  But 
the  cloud  was  fast  coming  up  the  horizon,  though  she  saw  it  not. 
A little  longer,  and  the  sun  would  be  hid  for  many  a wintry  day. 

Amyas  went  to  Plymouth  (with  Yeo,  of  course,  at  his  heels), 
and  there  beheld,  for  the  first  time,  the  majestic  countenance  of 
the  philosopher  of  Compton  Castle.  He  lodged  with  Drake,  and 
found  him  not  over-sanguine  as  to  the  success  of  the  voyage. 

“ For  learning  and  manners,  Amyas,  there’s  not  his  equal ; 
and  the  queen  may  well  love  him,  and  Devon  be  proud  of  him  : 
but  book-learning  is  not  business  ; book-learning  didn’t  get  me 
round  the  world ; book-learning  didn’t  make  Captain  Hawkins, 
nor  his  father  neither,  the  best  shipbuilders  from  Hull  to  Cadiz; 
and  book-learning,  I very  much  fear,  won’t  plant  Newfoundland.” 

However,  the  die  was  cast,  and  the  little  fleet  of  five  sail 
assembled  in  Cawsand  Bay.  Amyas  was  to  go  as  a gentleman 
adventurer  on  board  of  Raleigh’s  bark  ; Raleigh  himself,  how- 
ever, at  the  eleventh  hour,  had  been  forbidden  by  the  queen  to 
leave  England.  Ere  they  left,  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert’s  picture 
was  painted  by  some  Plymouth  artist,  to  be  sent  up  to  Elizabeth 
in  answer  to  a letter  and  a gift  sent  by  Raleigh,  which,  as  a 
specimen  of  the  men  and  of  the  time,  I here  transcribe  : — 

1 “ Brother — I have  sent  you  a token  from  her  Majesty, 
an  anchor  guided  by  a lady,  as  you  see.  And  further,  her 
Highness  willed  me  to  send  you  word,  that  she  wisheth  you  as 
great  good  hap  and  safety  to  your  ship  as  if  she  were  there  in 
person,  desiring  you  to  have  care  of  yourself  as  of  that  which 
she  tendereth ; and,  therefore,  for  her  sake,  you  must  provide 
for  it  accordingly.  Furthermore,  she  commandeth  that  you 

1 This  letter  was  a few  years  since  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Pomeroy 
Gilbert,  fort-major  at  Dartmouth,  a descendant  of  the  Admiral’s. 


CHAP.  XI.]  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE.  231 

leave  your  picture  with  her.  For  the  rest  I leave  till  our  meet- 
ing, or  to  the  report  of  the  bearer,  who  would  needs  be  the 
messenger  of  this  good  news.  So  I commit  you  to  the  will  and 
protection  of  God,  who  send  us  such  life  and  death  as  he  shall 
please,  or  hath  appointed. 

“ Richmond,  this  Friday  morning, 

“ Your  true  Brother, 

“W.  Raleigh.” 

“Who  would  not  die,  sir,  for  such  a woman?”  said  Sir 
Humphrey  (and  he  said  truly),  as  he  showed  that  letter  to 
Amyas. 

“ Who  would  not  ? But  she  bids  you  rather  live  for  her.” 

“ I shall  do  both,  young  man ; and  for  God  too,  I trust. 
We  are  going  in  God’s  cause ; we  go  for  the  honour  of  God’s 
Gospel,  for  the  deliverance  of  poor  infidels  led  captive  by  the 
devil ; for  the  relief  of  my  distressed  countrymen  unemployed 
within  this  narrow  isle ; and  to  God  we  commit  our  cause. 
We  fight  against  the  devil  himself;  and  stronger  is  He  that  is 
within  us  than  he  that  is  against  us.” 

Som©  say  that  Raleigh  himself  came  down  to  Plymouth, 
accompanied  the  fleet  a day’s  sail  to  sea,  and  would  have  given 
her  Majesty  the  slip,  and  gone  with  them  Westward-ho,  but 
for  Sir  Humphrey’s  advice.  It  is  likely  enough  : but  I cannot 
find  evidence  for  it.  At  all  events,  on  the  11th  June  the  fleet 
sailed  out,  having,  says  Mr.  Hayes,  “ in  number  about  260  men, 
among  whom  we  had  of  every  faculty  good  choice,  as  shipwrights, 
masons,  carpenters,  smiths,  and  suchlike,  requisite  for  such  an 
action ; also  mineral  men  and  refiners.  Beside,  for  solace  of 
our  people  and  allurement  of  the  savages,  we  were  provided  of 
musique  in  good  variety  ; not  omitting  the  least  toys,  as  morris- 
dancers,  hobby-horses,  and  May-like  conceits,  to  delight  the 
savage  people,  whom  we  intended  to  win  by  all  fair  means 
possible.”  An  armament  complete  enough,  even  to  that  tender- 
ness towards  the  Indians,  which  is  so  striking  a feature  of  the 
Elizabethan  seamen  (called  out  in  them,  perhaps,  by  horror  at 
the  Spanish  cruelties,  as  well  as  by  their  more  liberal  creed), 
and  to  the  daily  service  of  God  on  board  of  every  ship,  accord- 
ing to  the  simple  old  instructions  of  Captain  John  Hawkins  to 
one  of  his  little  squadrons,  “ Keep  good  company ; beware  of 
fire  ; serve  God  daily ; and  love  one  another  ” — an  armament, 
in  short,  complete  in  all  but  men.  The  sailors  had  been  picked 
up  hastily  and  anywhere,  and  soon  proved  themselves  a mutin- 


232  HOW  EUSTACE  LEIGH  MET  THE  POPE’S  LEGATE.  [cUAP.  JCI. 

ous,  and,  in  the  case  of  the  bark  Swallow,  a piratical  set.  The 
mechanics  were  little  better.  The  gentlemen-ad venturers,  puffed 
up  with  vain  hopes  of  finding  a new  Mexico,  became  soon  dis- 
appointed and  surly  at  the  hard  practical  reality  ; while  over 
all  was  the  head  of  a sage  and  an  enthusiast,  a man  too  noble 
to  suspect  others,  and  too  pure  to  make  allowances  for  poor 
dirty  human  weaknesses.  He  had  got  his  scheme  perfect  upon 
paper,  well  for  him,  and  for  his  company,  if  he  had  asked 
Francis  Drake  to  translate  it  for  him  into  fact ! As  early  as 
the  second  day,  the  seeds  of  failure  began  to  sprout  above 
ground.  The  men  of  Raleigh’s  bark,  the  Vice-Admiral,  sud- 
denly found  themselves  seized,  or  supposed  themselves  seized, 
with  a contagious  sickness,  and  at  midnight  forsook  the  fleet, 
and  went  back  to  Plymouth ; whereto  Mr.  Hayes  can  only  say, 
“ The  reason  I never  could  understand.  Sure  I am  that  Mr. 
Raleigh  spared  no  cost  in  setting  them  forth.  And  so  I leave 
it  unto  God  !” 

But  Amyas  said  more.  He  told  Butler  the  captain  plainly 
that,  if  the  bark  went  back,  he  would  not ; that  he  had  seen 
enough  of  ships  deserting  their  consorts  ; that  it  should  never 
be  said  of  him  that  he  had  followed  Winter’s  example,  and 
that,  too,  on  a fair  easterly  wind ; and  finally  that  he  had  seen 
Doughty  hanged  for  trying  to  play  such  a trick,  and  that  he 
might  see  others  hanged  too  before  he  died.  Whereon  Captain 
Butler  offered  to  draw  and  fight,  to  which  Amyas  showed  no 
repugnance  ; whereon  the  captain,  having  taken  a second  look 
at  Amyas’s  thews  and  sinews,  reconsidered  the  matter,  and 
offered  to  put  Amyas  on  board  of  Sir  Humphrey’s  Delight,  if 
he  could  find  a crew  to  row  him. 

Amyas  looked  around. 

“Are  there  any  of  Sir  Francis  Drake’s  men  on  board1?” 

“ Three,  sir,”  said  Yeo.  “ Robert  Drew,  and  two  others.” 
“Pelicans!”  roared  Amyas,  “you  have  been  round  the 
world,  and  will  you  turn  back  from  Westward-ho  ?” 

There  was  a moment’s  silence,  and  then  Drew  came  forward. 
“ Lower  us  a boat,  captain,  and  lend  us  a caliver  to  make 
signals  with,  while  I get  my  kit  on  deck ; I’ll  after  Captain 
Leigh,  if  I row  him  aboard  all  alone  to  my  own  hands.” 

“ If  I ever  command  a ship,  I will  not  forget  you,”  said 
Amyas. 

“ Nor  us  either,  sir,  we  hope  ; for  we  haven’t  forgotten  you 
and  your  honest  conditions,”  said  both  the  other  Pelicans  ; and 
so  away  over  the  side  went  all  the  five,  and  pulled  away  after 


Bideford  Bridge . 


233 


CHAP.  XII.]  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  DINED,  ETC. 

the  admiral’s  lantern,  firing  shots  at  intervals  as  signals. 
Luckily  for  the  five  desperadoes,  the  night  was  all  but  calm. 
They  got  on  board  before  the  morning,  and  so  away  into  the 
boundless  West.1 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE. 

“ Three  lords  sat  drinking  late  yestreen, 

And  ere  they  paid  the  lawing, 

They  set  a combat  them  between, 

To  fight  it  in  the  dawing.” — Scotch  Ballad. 

Every  one  who  knows  Bideford  cannot  but  know  Bideford 
Bridge  ; for  it  is  the  very  omphalos,  cynosure,  and  soul,  around 
which  the  town,  as  a body,  has  organised  itself ; and  as  Edin- 
burgh is  Edinburgh  by  virtue  of  its  castle,  Rome  Rome  by 
virtue  of  its  capitol,  and  Egypt  Egypt  by  virtue  of  its  Pyra- 
mids, so  is  Bideford  Bideford  by  virtue  of  its  Bridge.  But 
all  do  not  know  the  occult  powers  which  have  advanced  and 
animated  the  said  wondrous  bridge  for  now  five  hundred  years, 
and  made  it  the  chief  wonder,  according  to  Prince  and  Fuller, 
of  this  fair  land  of  Devon  : being  first  an  inspired  bridge ; a 
soul -saving  bridge;  an  alms -giving  bridge;  an  educational 
bridge ; a sentient  bridge ; and  last,  but  not  least,  a dinner- 
giving bridge.  All  do  not  know  how,  when  it  began  to  be 
built  some  half  mile  higher  up,  hands  invisible  carried  the 
stones  down-stream  each  night  to  the  present  site ; until  Sir 
Richard  Gurney,  parson  of  the  parish,  going  to  bed  one  night 
in  sore  perplexity  and  fear  of  the  evil  spirit  -who  seemed  so 
busy  in  his  sheepfold,  beheld  a vision  of  an  angel,  who  bade 
build  the  bridge  where  he  himself  had  so  kindly  transported 
the  materials ; for  there  alone  was  sure  foundation  amid  the 
broad  sheet  of  shifting  sand.  All  do  not  know  how  Bishop 
Grandison  of  Exeter  proclaimed  throughout  his  diocese  indul- 
gences, benedictions,  and  “ participation  in  all  spiritual  bless- 
ings for  ever,”  to  all  who  would  promote  the  bridging  of  that 
dangerous  ford ; and  so,  consulting  alike  the  interests  of  their 
souls  and  of  their  bodies,  “ make  the  best  of  both  worlds.” 

1 The  Raleigh,  the  largest  ship  of  the  squadron,  was  of  only  200  tons 
burden  ; The  Golden  Hind,  Hayes’  ship,  which  returned  safe,  of  40  ; and 
The  Squirrel  (whereof  more  hereafter),  of  10  tons  ! In  such  cockboats 
did  these  old  heroes  brave  the  unknown  seas. 


234 


HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE 


[CHAP.  XII. 

All  do  not  know,  nor  do  I,  that  “ though  the  foundation  of 
the  bridge  is  laid  upon  wool,  yet  it  shakes  at  the  slightest  step 
of  a horse ;”  or  that,  “ though  it  has  twenty-three  arches,  yet 
one  Wm.  Alford  (another  Milo)  carried  on  his  back  for  a wager 
four  bushels  salt-water  measure,  all  the  length  thereof;”  or 
that  the  bridge  is  a veritable  esquire,  bearing  arms  of  its  own 
(a  ship  and  bridge  proper  on  a plain  field),  and  owning  lands 
and  tenements  in  many  parishes,  with  which  the  said  miracu- 
lous bridge  has,  from  time  to  time,  founded  charities,  built 
schools,  waged  suits  at  law,  and  finally  (for  this  concerns  us 
most)  given  yearly  dinners,  and  kept  for  that  purpose  (luxurious 
and  liquorish  bridge  that  it  was)  the  best  stocked  cellar  of 
wines  in  all  Devon. 

To  one  of  these  dinners,  as  it  happened,  were  invited  in 
the  year  1583  all  the  notabilities  of  Bideford,  and  beside  them 
Mr.  St.  Leger  of  Annery  close  by,  brother  of  the  Marshal  ot 
Munster,  and  of  Lady  Grenvile ; a most  worthy  and  hospitable 
gentleman,  who,  finding  riches  a snare,  parted  with  them  so 
freely  to  all  his  neighbours  as  long  as  he  lived,  that  he  effec- 
tually prevented  his  children  after  him  from  falling  into  the 
temptations  thereunto  incident. 

Between  him  and  one  of  the  bridge  trustees  arose  an  argu- 
ment, whether  a salmon  caught  below  the  bridge  was  better  or 
worse  than  one  caught  above ; and  as  that  weighty  question 
could  only  be  decided  by  practical  experiment,  Mr.  St.  Leger 
vowed  that  as  the  bridge  had  given  him  a good  dinner,  he 
would  give  the  bridge  one ; offered  a bet  of  five  pounds  that 
he  would  find  them,  out  of  the  pool  below  Annery,  as  firm  and 
flaky  a salmon  as  the  Appledore  one  which  they  had  just  eaten; 
and  then,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  invited  the  whole  com- 
pany present  to  dine  with  him  at  Annery  three  days  after,  and 
bring  with  them  each  a wife  or  daughter ; and  Don  Guzman 
being  at  table,  he  was  invited  too. 

So  there  was  a mighty  feast  in  the  great  hall  at  Annery, 
such  as  had  seldom  been  since  Judge  Hankford  feasted  Edward 
the  Fourth  there  ; and  while  every  one  was  eating  their  best 
and  drinking  their  worst,  Rose  Salterne  and  Don  Guzman  were 
pretending  not  to  see  each  other,  and  watching  each  other  all 
the  more.  But  Rose,  at  least,  had  to  be  very  careful  of  her 
glances ; for  not  only  was  her  father  at  the  table,  but  just 
opposite  her  sat  none  other  than  Messrs.  William  Cary  and 
Arthur  St.  Leger,  lieutenants  in  her  Majesty’s  Irish  army,  who 
had  returned  on  furlough  a few  days  before. 


CHAP.  XII.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  235 

Rose  Salterne  and  the  Spaniard  had  not  exchanged  a word 
in  the  last  six  months,  though  they  had  met  many  times.  The 
Spaniard  by  no  means  avoided  her  company,  except  in  her 
father’s  house;  he  only  took  care  to  obey  her  carefully,  by 
seeming  always  unconscious  of  her  presence,  beyond  the  state- 
liest of  salutes  at  entering  and  departing.  But  he  took  care, 
at  the  same  time,  to  lay  himself  out  to  the  very  best  advantage 
whenever  he  was  in  her  presence ; to  be  more  witty,  more 
eloquent,  more  romantic,  more  full  of  wonderful  tales  than  he 
ever  yet  had  been.  The  cunning  Don  had  found  himself 
foiled  in  his  first  tactic ; and  he  was  now  trying  another,  and 
a far  more  formidable  one.  In  the  first  place,  Rose  deserved  a 
very  severe  punishment,  for  having  dared  to  refuse  the  love  of 
a Spanish  nobleman ; and  what  greater  punishment  could  he 
inflict  than  withdrawing  the  honour  of  his  attentions,  and  the 
sunshine  of  his  smiles?  There  was  conceit  enough  in  that 
notion,  but  there  was  cunning  too ; for  none  knew  better  than 
the  Spaniard,  that  women,  like  the  world,  are  pretty  sure  to 
value  a man  (especially  if  there  be  any  real  worth  in  him)  at 
his  own  price ; and  that  the  more  he  demands  for  himself,  the 
more  they  will  give  for  him. 

And  now  he  would  put  a high  price  on  himself,  and  pique 
her  pride,  as  she  was  too  much  accustomed  to  worship,  to  be 
won  by  flattering  it.  He  might  have  done  that  by  paying 
attention  to  some  one  else : but  he  was  too  wise  to  employ  so 
coarse  a method,  which  might  raise  indignation,  or  disgust,  or 
despair  in  Rose’s  heart,  but  would  have  never  brought  her  to 
his  feet — as  it  will  never  bring  any  woman  worth  bringing. 
So  he  quietly  and  unobtrusively  showed  her  that  he  could  do 
without  her;  and  she,  poor  fool,  as  she  was  meant  to  do, 
began  forthwith  to  ask  herself— why  ? What  was  the  hidden 
treasure,  what  was  the  reserve  force,  which  made  him  independ- 
ent of  her,  while  she  could  not  say  that  she  was  independent  of 
him  ? Had  he  a secret  ? how  pleasant  to  know  it  ! Some 
huge  ambition  ? how  pleasant  to  share  in  it ! Some  mysteri- 
ous knowledge  ? how  pleasant  to  learn  it  ! Some  capacity  of 
love  beyond  the  common  ? how  delicious  to  have  it  all  for  her 
own  ! He  must  be  greater,  wiser,  richer  hearted  than  she  was, 
as  well  as  better-born.  Ah,  if  his  wealth  would  but  supply  her 
poverty ! And  so,  step  by  step,  she  was  being  led  to  sue  in 
forma  pauperis  to  the  very  man  whom  she  had  spurned  when 
he  sued  in  like  form  to  her.  That  temptation  of  having  some 
mysterious  private  treasure,  of  being  the  priestess  of  some 


236 


HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE 


[CHAP.  XII. 

hidden  sanctuary,  and  being  able  to  thank  Heaven  that  she  was 
not  as  other  women  are,  was  becoming  fast  too  much  for  Rose, 
as  it  is  too  much  for  most.  For  none  knew  better  than  the 
Spaniard  how  much  more  fond  women  are,  by  the  very  law  of 
their  sex,  of  worshipping  than  of  being  worshipped,  and  of 
obeying  than  of  being  obeyed ; how  their  coyness,  often  their 
scorn,  is  but  a mask  to  hide  their  consciousness  of  weakness ; 
and  a mask,  too,  of  which  they  themselves  will  often  be  the 
first  to  tire. 

And  Rose  was  utterly  tired  of  that  same  mask  as  she  sat  at 
table  at  Annery  that  day ; and  Don  Guzman  saw  it  in  her  un- 
easy and  downcast  looks,  and  thinking  (conceited  coxcomb)  that 
she  must  be  by  now  sufficiently  punished,  stole  a glance  at  her 
now  and  then,  and  was  not  abashed  when  he  saw  that  she 
dropped  her  eyes  when  they  met  his,  because  he  saw  her  silence 
and  abstraction  increase,  and  something  like  a blush  steal  into 
her  cheeks.  So  he  pretended  to  be  as  much  downcast  and 
abstracted  as  she  was,  and  went  on  with  his  glances,  till  he  once 
found  her,  poor  thing,  looking  at  him  to  see  if  he  was  looking 
at  her ; and  then  he  knew  his  prey  was  safe,  and  asked  her, 
with  his  eyes,  “ Do  you  forgive  me  V*  and  saw  her  stop  dead  in 
her  talk  to  her  next  neighbour,  and  falter,  and  drop  her  eyes, 
and  raise  them  again  after  a minute  in  search  of  his,  that  he 
might  repeat  the  pleasant  question.  And  then  what  could  she 
do  but  answer  with  all  her  face  and  every  bend  of  her  pretty 
neck,  “ And  do  you  forgive  me  in  turn  V7 

Whereon  Don  Guzman  broke  out  jubilant,  like  nightingale 
on  bough,  with  story,  and  jest,  and  repartee ; and  became  forth- 
with the  soul  of  the  whole  company,  and  the  most  charming  of 
all  cavaliers.  And  poor  Rose  knew  that  she  was  the  cause  of 
his  sudden  change  of  mood,  and  blamed  herself  for  what  she 
had  done,  and  shuddered  and  blushed  at  her  own  delight,  and 
longed  that  the  feast  was  over,  that  she  might  hurry  home  and 
hide  herself  alone  with  sweet  fancies  about  a love  the  reality  of 
which  she  felt  she  dared  not  face. 

It  was  a beautiful  sight,  the  great  terrace  at  Annery  that 
afternoon  ; with  the  smart  dames  in  their  gaudy  dresses  parad- 
ing up  and  down  in  twos  and  threes  before  the  stately  house ; 
or  looking  down  upon  the  park,  with  the  old  oaks,  and  the  deer, 
and  the  broad  land-locked  river  spread  out  like  a lake  beneath, 
all  bright  in  the  glare  of  the  midsummer  sun ; or  listening 
obsequiously  to  the  two  great  ladies  who  did  the  honours,  Mrs. 
St.  Leger  the  hostess,  and  her  sister-in-law,  fair  Lady  Grenvile. 


CHAP.  XII.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  237 

All  chatted,  and  laughed,  and  eyed  each  other’s  dresses,  and 
gossiped  about  each  other’s  husbands  and  servants  : only  Rose 
Salterne  kept  apart,  and  longed  to  get  into  a corner  and  laugh 
or  cry,  she  knew  not  which. 

“ Our  pretty  Rose  seems  sad,”  said  Lady  Grenvile,  coming 
up  to  her.  “ Cheer  up,  child  ! we  want  you  to  come  and  sing 
to  us.” 

Rose  answered  she  knew  not  what,  and  obeyed  mechanically. 

She  took  the  lute,  and  sat  down  on  a bench  beneath  the 
house,  while  the  rest  grouped  themselves  round  her. 

“What  shall  I sing?” 

“ Let  us  have  your  old  song,  ‘ Earl  Haldan’s  Daughter.’  ” 

Rose  shrank  from  it.  It  was  a loud  and  dashing  ballad, 
which  chimed  in  but  little  with  her  thoughts ; and  Frank  had 
praised  it  too,  in  happier  days  long  since  gone  by.  She  thought 
of  him,  and  of  others,  and  of  her  pride  and  carelessness  ; and 
the  song  seemed  ominous  to  her  : and  yet  for  that  very  reason 
she  dared  not  refuse  to  sing  it,  for  fear  of  suspicion  where  no 
one  suspected ; and  so  she  began  per  force — 

1. 

“ It  was  Earl  Haldan’s  daughter, 

She  look’d  across  the  sea  ; 

She  look’d  across  the  water, 

And  long  and  loud  laugh’d  she ; 

‘ The  locks  of  six  princesses 
Must  he  my  marriage-fee, 

So  hey  bonny  boat,  and  ho  bonny  boat ! 

Who  comes  a wooing  me  ? ’ 

2. 

“ It  was  Earl  Haldan’s  daughter, 

She  walk’d  along  the  sand  ; 

When  she  was  aware  of  a knight  so  fair, 

Come  sailing  to  the  land. 

His  sails  were  all  of  velvet, 

His  mast  of  beaten  gold, 

And  ‘ hey  bonny  boat,  and  ho  bonny  boat, 

Who  saileth  here  so  bold  V 


3. 

<l  1 The  locks  of  five  princesses 
I won  beyond  the  sea ; 

I shore  their  golden  tresses, 

To  fringe  a cloak  for  thee. 

One  handful  yet  is  wanting, 

But  one  of  all  the  tale  ; 

So  hey  bonny  boat,  and  ho  bonny  boat ! 
Furl  up  thy  velvet  sail ! ’ 


238 


HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE 


[CHAP.  xii. 


4. 

**  He  leapt  into  the  water, 

That  rover  young  and  bold  ; 

He  gript  Earl  Haldan’s  daughter, 

He  shore  her  locks  of  gold  ; 

* Go  weep,  go  weep,  proud  maiden, 

The  tale  is  full  to-day. 

Now  hey  bonny  boat,  and  ho  bonny  boat  ! 

Sail  Westvvard-ho,  and  away  !’  ” 

As  she  ceased,  a measured  voice,  with  a foreign  accent, 
thrilled  through  her. 

“In  the  East,  they  say  the  nightingale  sings  to  the  rose; 
Devon,  more  happy,  has  nightingale  and  rose  in  one.” 

“We  have  no  nightingales  in  Devon,  Don  Guzman,”  said 
Lady  Grenvile;  “hut  our  little  forest  thrushes  sing,  as  you 
hear,  sweetly  enough  to  content  any  ear.  But  what  brings  you 
away  from  the  gentlemen  so  early  ?” 

“ These  letters,”  said  he,  “ which  have  just  been  put  into  my 
hand ; and  as  they  call  me  home  to  Spain,  I was  loth  to  lose 
a moment  of  that  delightful  company  from  which  I must  part 
so  soon.” 

“To  Spain  ?”  asked  half-a-dozen  voices  : for  the  Don  was  a 
general  favourite. 

“Yes,  and  thence  to  the  Indies.  My  ransom  has  arrived, 
and  with  it  the  promise  of  an  office.  I am  to  be  Governor  of 
La  Guayra  in  Caraccas.  Congratulate  me  on  my  promotion.” 

A mist  was  over  Rose’s  eyes.  The  Spaniard’s  voice  was 
hard  and  flippant.  Did  he  care  for  her  after  all  % And  if  he 
did,  was  it  nevertheless  hopeless  ? How  her  cheeks  glowed ! 
Everybody  must  see  it ! Anything  to  turn  away  their  attention 
from  her,  and  in  that  nervous  haste  which  makes  people  speak, 
and  speak  foolishly  too,  just  because  they  ought  to  be  silent, 
she  asked — 

“And  where  is  La  Guayra?” 

“ Half  round  the  world,  on  the  coast  of  the  Spanish  Main. 
The  loveliest  place  on  earth,  and  the  loveliest  governor’s  house, 
in  a forest  of  palms  at  the  foot  of  a mountain  eight  thousand 
feet  high  : I shall  only  want  a wife  there  to  be  in  paradise.” 

“ I don’t  doubt  that  you  may  persuade  some  fair  lady  of 
Seville  to  accompany  you  thither,”  said  Lady  Grenvile. 

“ Thanks,  gracious  Madam  : but  the  truth  is,  that  since  I 
have  had  the  bliss  of  knowing  English  ladies,  I have  begun  to 
think  that  they  are  the  only  ones  on  earth  worth  wooing.” 

“ A thousand  thanks  for  the  compliment ; but  I fear  none 


CHAP.  XII.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  239 

of  our  free  English  maidens  would  like  to  submit  to  the  guardian- 
ship of  a duenna.  Eh,  Rose  1 how  should  you  like  to  be  kept 
under  lock  and  key  all  day  by  an  ugly  old  woman  with  a horn 
on  her  forehead  ?” 

Poor  Rose  turned  so  scarlet  that  Lady  Grenvile  knew  her 
secret  on  the  spot,  and  would  have  tried  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion : but  before  she  could  speak,  some  burgher’s  wife  blundered 
out  a commonplace  about  the  jealousy  of  Spanish  husbands ; 
and  another,  to  make  matters  better,  giggled  out  something 
more  true  than  delicate  about  West  Indian  masters  and  fair 
slaves 

“ Ladies,”  said  Don  Guzman,  reddening,  “ believe  me  that 
these  are  but  the  calumnies  of  ignorance.  If  we  be  more  jealous 
than  other  nations,  it  is  because  we  love  more  passionately. 
If  some  of  us  abroad  are  profligate,  it  is  because  they,  poor 
men,  have  no  helpmate,  which,  like  the  amethyst,  keeps  its 
wearer  pure.  I could  tell  you  stories,  ladies,  of  the  constancy 
and  devotion  of  Spanish  husbands,  even  in  the  Indies,  as 
strange  as  ever  romancer  invented.” 

“ Can  you  1 Then  we  challenge  you  to  give  us  one  at  least.” 

“ I fear  it  would  be  too  long,  Madam.” 

“ The  longer  the  more  pleasant,  Senor.  How  can  we  spend 
an  hour  better  this  afternoon,  while  the  gentlemen  within  are 
finishing  their  wine  ?” 

Story-telling,  in  those  old  times,  when  books  (and  authors 
also,  lucky  for  the  public)  were  rarer  than  now,  was  a common 
amusement  ; and  as  the  Spaniard’s  accomplishments  in  that 
line  were  well  known,  all  the  ladies  crowded  round  him ; the 
servants  brought  chairs  and  benches  ; and  Don  Guzman,  taking 
his  seat  in  the  midst,  with  a proud  humility,  at  Lady  Grenvile’s 
feet,  began — 

“ Your  perfections,  fair  and  illustrious  ladies,  must  doubt- 
less have  heard,  ere  now,  how  Sebastian  Cabota,  some  forty-five 
years  ago,  sailed  forth  with  a commission  from  my  late  master, 
the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  to  discover  the  golden  lands  of 
Tarshish,  Ophir,  and  Cipango  ; but  being  in  want  of  provisions, 
stopped  short  at  the  mouth  of  that  mighty  South  American 
river  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Rio  de  la  Plata,  and  sailing 
up  it,  discovered  the  fair  land  of  Paraguay.  But  you  may  not 
have  heard  how,  on  the  bank  of  that  river,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Rio  Terceiro,  he  built  a fort  which  men  still  call  Cabot’s  Tower  ; 
nor  have  you,  perhaps,  heard  of  the  strange  tale  which  will  ever 
make  the  tower  a sacred  spot  to  all  true  lovers. 


240  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  [chap.  XII. 

“ For  when  he  returned  to  Spain  the  year  after,  he  left  in 
his  tower  a garrison  of  a hundred  and  twenty  men,  under  the 
command  of  Nuho  de  Lara,  Ruiz  Moschera,  and  Sebastian  da 
Hurtado,  old  friends  and  fellow-soldiers  of  my  invincible  grand- 
father Don  Ferdinando  da  Soto  ; and  with  them  a jewel,  than 
which  Spain  never  possessed  one  more  precious,  Lucia  Miranda, 
the  wife  of  Hurtado,  who,  famed  in  the  Court  of  the  Emperor 
no  less  for  her  wisdom  and  modesty  than  for  her  unrivalled 
beauty,  had  thrown  up  all  the  pomp  and  ambition  of  a palace, 
to  marry  a poor  adventurer,  and  to  encounter  with  him  the  hard- 
ships of  a voyage  round  the  world.  Mangora,  the  Cacique  of 
the  neighbouring  Timbuez  Indians  (with  whom  Lara  had  con- 
trived to  establish  a friendship),  cast  his  eyes  on  this  fair  crea- 
ture, and  no  sooner  saw  than  he  coveted  ; no  sooner  coveted 
than  he  plotted,  with  the  devilish  subtilty  of  a savage,  to  seize 
by  force  what  he  knew  he  could  never  gain  by  right.  She  soon 
found  out  his  passion  (she  was  wise  enough — what  every  woman 
is  not — to  know  when  she  is  loved),  and  telling  her  husband, 
kept  as  much  as  she  could  out  of  her  new  lover’s  sight ; while 
the  savage  pressed  Hurtado  to  come  and  visit  him,  and  to  bring 
his  lady  with  him.  Hurtado,  suspecting  the  snare,  and  yet 
fearing  to  offend  the  Cacique,  excused  himself  courteously  on 
the  score  of  his  soldier’s  duty  ; and  the  savage,  mad  with  desire 
and  disappointment,  began  plotting  against  Hurtado’s  life. 

“ So  went  on  several  weeks,  till  food  grew  scarce,  and  Don 
Hurtado  and  Don  Ruiz  Moschera,  with  fifty  soldiers,  were  sent 
up  the  river  on  a foraging  party.  Mangora  saw  his  opportunity, 
and  leapt  at  it  forthwith. 

“ The  tower,  ladies,  as  I have  heard  from  those  who  have 
seen  it,  stands  on  a knoll  at  the  meeting  of  the  two  rivers, 
while  on  the  land  side  stretches  a dreary  marsh,  covered  with 
tall  grass  and  bushes  ; a fit  place  for  the  ambuscade  of  four 
thousand  Indians,  which  Mangora,  with  devilish  cunning, 
placed  around  the  tower,  while  he  himself  went  boldly  up  to 
it,  followed  by  thirty  men,  laden  with  grain,  fruit,  game,  and 
all  the  delicacies  which  his  forests  could  afford. 

“There,  with  a smiling  face,  he  told  the  unsuspecting  Lara 
his  sorrow  for  the  Spaniard’s  want  of  food ; besought  him  to 
accept  the  provision  he  had  brought,  and  was,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected, invited  by  Lara  to  come  in  and  taste  the  wines  of  Spain. 

“ In  went  he  and  his  thirty  fellow-bandits,  and  the  feast 
continued,  with  songs  and  libations,  far  into  the  night,  while 
Mangora  often  looked  round,  and  at  last  boldly  asked  for  the 


CHAP,  xii.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  241 

fair  Miranda  : but  she  had  shut  herself  into  her  lodging,  plead- 
ing illness. 

“ A plea,  fair  ladies,  which  little  availed  that  hapless  dame : 
for  no  sooner  had  the  Spaniards  retired  to  rest,  leaving  (by  1 
know  not  what  madness)  Mangora  and  his  Indians  within,  than 
they  were  awakened  by  the  cry  of  fire,  the  explosion  of  their 
magazine,  and  the  inward  rush  of  the  four  thousand  from  the 
marsh  outside. 

“ Why  pain  your  gentle  ears  with  details  of  slaughter  ? A 
few  fearful  minutes  sufficed  to  exterminate  my  bewildered  and 
unarmed  countrymen,  to  bind  the  only  survivors,  Miranda 
(innocent  cause  of  the  whole  tragedy)  and  four  other  women 
with  their  infants,  and  to  lead  them  away  in  triumph  across 
the  forest  towards  the  Indian  town. 

“ Stunned  by  the  suddenness  of  the  evils  which  had  passed, 
and  still  more  by  the  thought  of  those  worse  which  were  to 
come  (as  she  too  well  foresaw),  Miranda  travelled  all  night 
through  the  forest,  and  was  brought  in  triumph  at  day-dawn 
before  the  Indian  king  to  receive  her  doom.  Judge  of  her 
astonishment,  when,  on  looking  up,  she  saw  that  he  was  not 
Mangora. 

“ A ray  of  hope  flashed  across  her,  and  she  asked  where  he 

was. 

“ ‘ He  was  slain  last  night/  said  the  king ; ‘ and  I his 
brother  Siripa,  am  now  Cacique  of  the  Timbuez.’ 

“It  was  true;  Lara,  maddened  with  drink,  rage,  and 
wounds,  had  caught  up  his  sword,  rushed  into  the  thick  of  the 
fight,  singled  out  the  traitor,  and  slain  him  on  the  spot ; and 
then,  forgetting  safety  in  revenge,  had  continued  to  plunge  his 
sword  into  the  corpse,  heedless  of  the  blows  of  the  savages,  till 
he  fell  pierced  with  a hundred  wounds. 

“A  ray  of  hope,  as  I said,  flashed  across  the  wretched 
Miranda  for  a moment ; but  the  next  she  found  that  she  had 
been  freed  from  one  bandit  only  to  be  delivered  to  another. 

“ ‘ Yes/  said  the  new  king  in  broken  Spanish  ; ‘my  brother 
played  a bold  stake,  and  lost  it ; but  it  was  well  worth  the 
risk,  and  he  showed  his  wisdom  thereby.  You  cannot  be  his 
queen  now  : you  must  content  yourself  with  being  mine.’ 

“ Miranda,  desperate,  answered  him  with  every  fierce  taunt 
which  she  could  invent  against  his  treachery  and  his  crime  ; and 
asked  him,  how  he  came  to  dream  that  the  wife  of  a Christian 
Spaniard  would  condescend  to  become  the  mistress  of  a heathen 
savage;  hoping,  unhappy  lady,  to  exasperate  him  into  killing 

R 


242 


HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE 


[CHAP.  XII. 


her  on  the  spot.  But  in  vain ; she  only  prolonged  thereby  her 
own  misery.  For,  whether  it  was,  ladies,  that  the  novel  sight 
of  divine  virtue  and  beauty  awed  (as  it  may  have  awed  me  ere 
now),  where  it  had  just  before  maddened;  or  whether  some 
dream  crossed  the  savage  (as  it  may  have  crossed  me  ere  now), 
that  he  could  make  the  wisdom  of  a mortal  angel  help  his 
ambition,  as  well  as  her  beauty  his  happiness;  or  whether 
(which  I will  never  believe  of  one  of  those  dark  children  of  the 
devil,  though  I can  boldly  assert  it  of  myself)  some  spark  of 
boldness  within  him  made  him  too  proud  to  take  by  force  what 
he  could  not  win  by  persuasion,  certain  it  is,  as  the  Indians 
themselves  confessed  afterwards,  that  the  savage  only  answered 
her  by  smiles ; and  bidding  his  men  unbind  her,  told  her  that 
she  was  no  slave  of  his,  and  that  it  only  lay  with  her  to  become 
the  sovereign  of  him  and  all  his  vassals ; assigned  her  a hut  to 
herself,  loaded  her  with  savage  ornaments,  and  for  several  weeks 
treated  her  with  no  less  courtesy  (so  miraculous  is  the  power  of 
love)  than  if  he  had  been  a cavalier  of  Castile. 

“Three  months  and  more,  ladies,  as  I have  heard,  passed 
in  this  misery,  and  every  day  Miranda  grew  more  desperate  of 
all  deliverance,  and  saw  staring  her  in  the  face,  nearer  and 
nearer,  some  hideous  and  shameful  end ; when  one  day  going 
down  with  the  wives  of  the  Cacique  to  draw  water  in  the  river, 
she  saw  on  the  opposite  bank  a white  man  in  a tattered  Spanish 
dress,  with  a drawn  sword  in  his  hand ; wrho  had  no  sooner 
espied  her,  than  shrieking  her  name,  he  plunged  into  the  stream, 
swam  across,  landed  at  her  feet,  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 
It  was  no  other,  ladies,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  than  Don 
Sebastian  himself,  who  had  returned  with  Ruiz  Moschera  to  the 
tower,  and  found  it  only  a charred  and  bloodstained  heap  of 
ruins. 

“ He  guessed,  as  by  inspiration,  what  had  passed,  and 
whither  his  lady  was  gone ; and  without  a thought  of  danger, 
like  a true  Spanish  gentleman,  and  a true  Spanish  lover,  darted 
off  alone  into  the  forest,  and  guided  only  by  the  inspiration  of 
his  own  loyal  heart,  found  again  his  treasure,  and  found  it  still 
unstained  and  his  own. 

“Who  can  describe  the  joy,  and  who  again  the  terror,  of 
their  meeting  'l  The  Indian  women  had  fled  in  fear,  and  for 
the  short  ten  minutes  that  the  lovers  were  left  together,  life,  to 
be  sure,  was  one  long  kiss.  But  what  to  do  they  knew  not. 
To  go  inland  was  to  rush  into  the  enemy’s  arms.  He  would 
have  swum  with  her  across  the  river,  and  attempted  it ; but 


CHAV,  xii.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  243 

his  strength,  worn  out  with  hunger  and  travel,  failed  him ; he 
drew  her  with  difficulty  on  shore  again,  and  sat  down  by  her  to 
await  their  doom  with  prayer,  the  first  and  last  resource  ot 
virtuous  ladies,  as  weapons  are  of  cavaliers. 

“ Alas  for  them  ! May  no  true  lovers  ever  have  to  weep 
over  joys  so  soon  lost,  after  having  been  so  hardly  found  ! For, 
ere  a quarter  of  an  hour  was  passed,  the  Indian  women,  who 
had  fled  at  his  approach,  returned  with  all  the  warriors  of  the 
tribe.  Don  Sebastian,  desperate,  would  fain  have  slain  his  wife 
and  himself  on  the  spot ; but  his  hand  sank  again — and  whose 
would  not  but  an  Indian’s1? — as  he  raised  it  against  that  fair 
and  faithful  breast ; in  a few  minutes  he  was  surrounded,  seized 
from  behind,  disarmed,  and  carried  in  triumph  into  the  village. 
And  if  you  cannot  feel  for  him  in  that  misery,  fair  ladies,  who 
have  known  no  sorrow,  yet  I,  a prisoner,  can.” 

Don  Guzman  paused  a moment,  as  if  overcome  by  emotion  ; 
and  I will  not  say  that,  as  he  paused,  he  did  not  look  to  see  if 
Rose  Salterne’s  eyes  were  on  him,  as  indeed  they  were. 

“Yes,  I can  feel  with  him ; I can  estimate,  better  than  you, 
ladies,  the  greatness  of  that  love  which  could  submit  to  captiv- 
ity ; to  the  loss  of  his  sword  ; to  the  loss  of  that  honour,  which, 
next  to  God  and  his  mother,  is  the  true  Spaniard’s  deity.  There 
are  those  who  have  suffered  that  shame  at  the  hands  of  valiant 
gentlemen  ” (and  again  Don  Guzman  looked  up  at  Rose),  “ and 
yet  would  have  sooner  died  a thousand  deaths ; but  he  dared 
to  endure  it  from  the  hands  of  villains,  savages,  heathens ; for 
he  was  a true  Spaniard,  and  therefore  a true  lover : but  I will 
go  on  with  my  tale. 

u This  wretched  pair,  then,  as  I have  been  told  by  Ruiz 
Moschera  himself,  stood  together  before  the  Cacique.  He,  like 
a true  child  of  the  devil,  comprehending  in  a moment  who  Don 
Sebastian  was,  laughed  with  delight  at  seeing  his  rival  in  his 
power,  and  bade  bind  him  at  once  to  a tree,  and  shoot  him  to 
death  with  arrows. 

“ But  the  poor  Miranda  sprang  forward,  and  threw  herself 
at  his  feet,  and  with  piteous  entreaties  besought  for  mercy  from 
him  who  knew  no  mercy. 

“ And  yet  love  and  the  sight  of  her  beauty,  and  the  terrible 
eloquence  of  her  words,  while  she  invoked  on  his  head  the  just 
vengeance  of  Heaven,  wrought  even  on  his  heart : nevertheless 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  her,  who  had  so  long  scorned  him,  a sup- 
pliant at  his  feet,  was  too  delicate  to  be  speedily  foregone ; and 
not  till  she  was  all  but  blind  with  tears,  and  dumb  with  agony 


244  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  [CHAP.  XII. 

of  pleading,  did  he  make  answer,  that  if  she  would  consent  to 
become  his  wife,  her  husband’s  life  should  be  spared.  She,  in 
her  haste  and  madness,  sobbed  out  desperately  I know  not  what 
consent.  Don  Sebastian,  who  understood,  if  not  the  language, 
still  the  meaning  (so  had  love  quickened  his  understanding), 
shrieked  to  her  not  to  lose  her  precious  soul  for  the  sake  of  his 
worthless  body ; that  death  was  nothing  compared  to  the  horror 
of  that  shame ; and  such  other  words  as  became  a noble  and 
valiant  gentleman.  She,  shuddering  now  at  her  own  frailty, 
would  have  recalled  her  promise  ; but  Siripa  kept  her  to  it, 
vowing,  if  she  disappointed  him  again,  such  a death  to  her  hus- 
band as  made  her  blood  run  cold  to  hear  of ; and  the  wretched 
woman  could  only  escape  for  the  present  by  some  story,  that  it 
was  not  the  custom  of  her  race  to  celebrate  nuptials  till  a montli 
after  the  betrothment ; that  the  anger  of  Heaven  would  be  on 
her,  unless  she  first  performed  in  solitude  certain  religious  rites  ; 
and  lastly,  that  if  he  dared  to  lay  hands  on  her  husband,  she 
would  die  so  resolutely,  that  every  drop  of  water  should  be  deep 
enough  to  drown  her,  every  thorn  sharp  enough  to  stab  her  to 
the  heart : till  fearing  lest  by  demanding  too  much  he  should 
lose  all,  and  awed  too,  as  he  had  been  at  first  by  a voice  and 
looks  which  seemed  to  be,  in  comparison  with  his  own,  divine, 
Siripa  bade  her  go  back  to  her  hut,  promising  her  husband  life  ; 
but  promising  too,  that  if  he  ever  found  the  two  speaking  to- 
gether, even  for  a moment,  he  would  pour  out  on  them  both  all 
the  cruelty  of  those  tortures  in  which  the  devil,  their  father, 
has  so  perfectly  instructed  the  Indians. 

“ So  Don  Sebastian,  being  stripped  of  his  garments,  and 
painted  after  the  Indian  fashion,  was  set  to  all  mean  and  toil- 
some work,  amid  the  buffetings  and  insults  of  the  whole  village. 
And  this,  ladies,  he  endured  without  a murmur,  ay,  took  delight 
in  enduring  it,  as  he  would  have  endured  things  worse  a thou- 
sand times,  only  for  the  sake,  like  a true  lover  as  he  was,  of 
being  near  the  goddess  whom  he  worshipped,  and  of  seeing  her 
now  and  then  afar  off,  happy  enough  to  be  repaid  even  by  that 
for  all  indignities. 

“ And  yet,  you  who  have  loved  may  well  guess,  as  I can,  that 
ere  a week  had  passed,  Don  Sebastian  and  the  Lady  Miranda 
had  found  means,  in  spite  of  all  spiteful  eyes,  to  speak  to  each 
other  once  and  again ; and  to  assure  each  other  of  their  love ; 
even  to  talk  of  escape,  before  the  month’s  grace  should  be  ex- 
pired. And  Miranda,  whose  heart  was  full  of  courage  as  long 
as  she  felt  her  husband  near  her,  went  so  far  as  to  plan  a means 
of  escape  which  seemed  possible  and  hopeful. 


CHAP,  xii.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HQUSE.  245 

“ For  the  youngest  wife  of  the  Cacique,  who,  till  Miranda’s 
coming,  had  been  his  favourite,  often  talked  with  the  captive, 
insulting  and  tormenting  her  in  her  spite  and  jealousy,  and 
receiving  in  return  only  gentle  and  conciliatory  words.  And  one 
day  when  the  woman  had  been  threatening  to  kill  her,  Miranda 
took  courage  to  say,  ‘ Do  you  fancy  that  I shall  not  be  as  glad 
to  be  rid  of  your  husband,  as  you  to  be  rid  of  me  1 Why  kill 
me  needlessly,  when  all  that  you  require  is  to  get  me  forth  of 
the  place  1 Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind.  When  I am  gone,  your 
husband  will  soon  forget  me,  and  you  will  be  his  favourite  as 
before.’  Soon,  seeing  that  the  girl  was  inclined  to  listen,  she 
went  on  to  tell  her  of  her  love  to  Don  Sebastian,  entreating  and 
abjuring  her,  by  the  love  which  she  bore  the  Cacique,  to  pity 
and  help  her ; and  so  won  upon  the  girl,  that  she  consented  to 
be  privy  to  Mirauda’s  escape,  and  even  offered  to  give  her  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  her  husband  about  it ; and  at  last 
was  so  won  over  by  Miranda,  that  she  consented  to  keep  all 
intruders  out  of  the  way,  while  Don  Sebastian  that  very  night 
visited  Miranda  in  her  hut. 

“ The  hapless  husband,  thirsting  for  his  love,  wras  in  that 
hut,  be  sure,  the  moment  that  kind  darkness  covered  his  steps  : 
— and  what  cheer  these  two  made  of  each  other,  when  they 
once  found  themselves  together,  lovers  must  fancy  for  them- 
selves : but  so  it  was,  that  after  many  a leave-taking,  there  wras 
no  departure ; and  when  the  night  was  well-nigh  past,  Sebastian 
and  Miranda  were  still  talking  together,  as  if  they  had  never 
met  before,  and  would  never  meet  again. 

“ But  it  befell,  ladies  (would  that  I was  not  speaking  truth, 
but  inventing,  that  I might  have  invented  something  merrier 
for  your  ears),  it  befell  that  very  night,  that  the  young  wife  of 
the  Cacique,  whose  heart  was  lifted  up  with  the  thought  that 
her  rival  was  now  at  last  disposed  of,  tried  all  her  wiles  to  win 
back  her  faithless  husband ; but  in  vain.  He  only  answered 
her  caresses  by  indifference,  then  by  contempt,  then  insults, 
then  blows  (for  with  the  Indians,  woman  is  always  a slave,  or 
rather  a beast  of  burden),  and  went  on  to  draw  such  cruel  com- 
parisons between  her  dark  skin  and  the  glorious  fairness  of  the 
Spanish  lady,  that  the  wretched  girl,  beside  herself  with  rage, 
burst  out  at  last  with  her  own  secret.  ‘ Fool  that  you  are  to 
madden  yourself  about  a stranger  who  prizes  one  hair  of  her 
Spanish  husband’s  head  more  than  your  whole  body ! Much 
does  your  new  bride  care  for  you  ! She  is  at  this  moment  in 
her  husband’s  arms !’ 


246 


HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE 


[chap.  XII. 

“ The  Cacique  screamed  furiously  to  know  what  she  meant; 
and  she,  her  jealousy  and  hate  of  the  guiltless  lady  boiling  over 
once  for  all,  bade  him,  if  he  doubted  her,  go  see  for  himself. 

“ What  use  of  many  words  ? They  were  taken.  Love,  or 
rather  lust,  repelled,  turned  in  a moment  into  devilish  hate ; 
and  the  Cacique,  summoning  his  Indians,  bade  them  bind  the 
wretched  Don  Sebastian  to  a tree,  and  there  inflicted  on  him 
the  lingering  death  to  which  he  had  at  first  been  doomed.  For 
Miranda  he  had  more  exquisite  cruelty  in  store.  And  shall  I 
tell  it?  Yes,  ladies,  for  the  honour  of  love  and  of  Spain,  and 
for  a justification  of  those  cruelties  against  the  Indians  which 
are  so  falsely  imputed  to  our  most  Christian  nation,  it  shall  be 
told  : he  delivered  the  wretched  lady  over  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  his  wives  ; and  what  they  were  is  neither  fit  for  me  to  tell, 
nor  you  to  hear. 

“ The  two  wretched  lovers  cast  themselves  upon  each  other’s 
necks ; drank  each  other’s  salt  tears  with  the  last  kisses ; ac- 
cused themselves  as  the  cause  of  each  other’s  death ; and  then, 
rising  above  fear  and  grief,  broke  out  into  triumph  at  thus  dying 
for  and  with  each  other ; and  proclaiming  themselves  the  mar- 
tyrs of  love,  commended  their  souls  to  God,  and  then  stepped 
joyfully  and  proudly  to  their  doom.” 

“And  what  was  that?”  asked  half-a-dozen  trembling  voices. 
“Don  Sebastian,  as  I have  said,  was  shot  to  death  with 
arrows ; but  as  for  the  Lady  Miranda,  the  wretches  themselves 
confessed  afterwards,  when  they  received  due  vengeance  for  their 
crimes  (as  they  did  receive  it),  that  after  all  shameful  and  hor- 
rible indignities,  she  was  bound  to  a tree,  and  there  burned 
slowly  in  her  husband’s  sight,  stifling  her  shrieks  lest  they 
should  wring  his  heart  by  one  additional  pang,  and  never  taking 
her  eyes,  to  the  last,  off*  that  beloved  face.  And  so  died  (but 
not  unavenged)  Sebastian  de  Hurtado  and  Lucia  Miranda, — a 
Spanish  husband  and  a Spanish  wife.” 

The  Don  paused,  and  the  ladies  were  silent  awhile ; for,  in- 
deed, there  was  many  a gentle  tear  to  be  dried ; but  at  last 
Mrs.  St.  Leger  spoke,  half,  it  seemed,  to  turn  off  the  too  pain- 
ful impression  of  the  over-true  tale,  the  outlines  whereof  may 
be  still  read  in  old  Charlevoix. 

“ You  have  told  a sad  and  a noble  tale,  sir,  and  told  it  well; 
but,  though  your  story  was  to  set  forth  a perfect  husband,  it 
has  ended  rather  by  setting  forth  a perfect  wife.” 

“ And  if  I have  forgotten,  Madam,  in  praising  her  to  praise 
him  also,  have  I not  done  that  which  would  have  best  pleased 


CHAP.  XII.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  247 

his  heroical  and  chivalrous  spirit?  He,  be  sure,  would  have 
forgotten  his  own  virtue  in  the  light  of  hers ; and  he  would 
have  wished  me,  I doubt  not,  to  do  the  same  also.  And  beside, 
Madam,  where  ladies  are  the  theme,  who  has  time  or  heart  to 
cast  one  thought  upon  their  slaves?”  And  the  Don  made  one 
of  his  deliberate  and  highly-finished  bows. 

“ Don  Guzman  is  courtier  enough,  as  far  as  compliments 
go,”  said  one  of  the  young  ladies ; “ but  it  was  hardly  courtier- 
like of  him  to  find  us  so  sad  an  entertainment,  upon  a merry 
evening.” 

“Yes,”  said  another;  “we  must  ask  him  for  no  more  stories.” 
“ Or  songs  either,”  said  a third.  “ I fear  he  knows  none 
but  about  forsaken  maidens  and  despairing  lovers.” 

“I  know  nothing  at  all  about  forsaken  ladies,  Madam; 
because  ladies  are  never  forsaken  in  Spain.” 

“Nor  about  lovers  despairing  there,  I suppose?” 

“ That  good  opinion  of  ourselves,  Madam,  with  which  you 
English  are  pleased  to  twit  us  now  and  then,  always  prevents 
so  sad  a state  of  mind.  For  myself,  I have  h;id  little  to  do  with 
love ; but  I have  had  still  less  to  do  with  despair,  and  intend, 
by  help  of  Heaven,  to  have  less.” 

“You  are  valiant,  sir.” 

“ You  would  not  have  me  a coward,  Madam  ?”  and  so  forth. 
Now  all  this  time  Don  Guzman  had  been  talking  at  Eose 
Salterne,  and  giving  her  the  very  slightest  hint,  every  now  and 
then,  that  he  was  talking  at  her ; till  the  poor  girl’s  face  was 
almost  crimson  with  pleasure,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  the 
spell.  He  loved  her  still ; perhaps  he  knew  that  she  loved 
him  : he  must  know  some  day.  She  felt  now  that  there  was 
no  escape ; she  was  almost  glad  to  think  that  there  was  none. 

The  dark,  handsome,  stately  face;  the  melodious  voice,  with 
its  rich  Spanish  accent ; the  quiet  grace  of  the  gestures ; the 
wild  pathos  of  the  story ; even  the  measured  and  inflated  style, 
as  of  one  speaking  of  another  and  a loftier  world ; the  chival- 
rous respect  and  admiration  for  woman,  and  for  faithfulness  to 
woman — what  a man  he  was  ! If  he  had  been  pleasant  hereto- 
fore, he  was  now  enchanting.  All  the  ladies  round  felt  that, 
she  could  see,  as  much  as  she  herself  did ; no,  not  quite  as 
much,  she  hoped.  She  surely  understood  him,  and  felt  for  his 
loneliness  more  than  any  of  them.  Had  she  not  been  feeling 
for  it  through  long  and  sad  months  ? But  it  was  she  whom  he 
was  thinking  of,  she  whom  he  was  speaking  to,  all  along.  Oh, 
why  had  the  tale  ended  so  soon  ? She  would  gladly  have  sat 


248  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  [chai>.  xii. 

and  wept  her  eyes  out  till  midnight  over  one  melodious  misery 
after  another;  hut  she  was  quite  wise  enough  to  keep  her  secret 
to  herself;  and  sat  behind  the  rest,  with  greedy  eyes  and  demure 
lips,  full  of  strange  and  new  happiness — or  misery ; she  knew 
not  which  to  call  it. 

In  the  meanwhile,  as  it  was  ordained,  Cary  could  see  and 
hear  through  the  window  of  the  hall  a good  deal  of  what  was 
going  on. 

“How  that  Spanish  crocodile  ogles  the  Rose!”  whispered 
he  to  young  St.  Leger. 

“ What  wonder  1 He  is  not  the  first  by  many  a one.” 

“Ay — but — By  heaven,  she  is  making  side-shots  at  him 
with  those  languishing  eyes  of  hers,  the  little  baggage  !” 

“ What  wonder  ? He  is  not  the  first,  say  I,  and  won’t  be 
the  last.  Pass  the  wine,  man.” 

“ I have  had  enough ; between  sack  and  singing,  my  head 
is  as  mazed  as  a dizzy  sheep.  Let  me  slip  out.” 

“Not  yet,  man;  remember  you  are  bound  for  one  song 
more.” 

So  Cary,  against  his  will,  sat  and  sang  another  song ; and 
in  the  meanwhile  the  party  had  broken  up,  and  wandered 
away  by  twos  and  threes,  among  trim  gardens  and  pleasaunces, 
and  clipped  yew-walks — 

“ Where  west- winds  with  musky  wing 
About  the  cedarn  alleys  fling 
Nard  and  cassia’s  balmy  smells ” 

admiring  the  beauty  of  that  stately  place,  long  since  passed 
into  other  hands,  and  fallen  to  decay ; but  then  (if  old  Prince 
speaks  true)  one  of  the  noblest  mansions  of  the  West. 

At  last  Cary  got  away  and  out ; sober,  but  just  enough 
flushed  with  wine  to  be  ready  for  any  quarrel ; and  luckily  for 
him,  had  not  gone  twenty  yards  along  the  great  terrace  before 
he  met  Lady  Grenvile. 

“ Has  your  Ladyship  seen  Don  Guzman  V’ 

“Yes — why,  where  is  he?  He  was  with  me  not  ten 
minutes  ago.  You  know  he  is  going  back  to  Spain.” 

“ Going  ! Has  his  ransom  come  V’ 

« Yes,  and  with  it  a governorship  in  the  Indies.” 

“ Governorship  ! Much  good  may  it  do  the  governed.” 

“ Why  not,  then  ? He  is  surely  a most  gallant  gentleman.” 
“ Galiant  enough— yes,”  said  Cary  carelessly.  “I  must 
find  him,  and  congratulate  him  on  his  honours.” 


DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE. 


249 


CHAP.  XII.] 

“ I will  help  you  to  find  him,”  said  Lady  Grenvile,  whose 
woman’s  eye  and  ear  had  already  suspected  something. 
“ Escort  me,  sir.” 

“ It  is  but  too  great  an  honour  to  squire  the  Queen  of 
Bideford,”  said  Cary,  offering  his  hand. 

“ If  I am  your  queen,  sir,  I must  be  obeyed,”  answered  she 
in  a meaning  tone.  Cary  took  the  hint,  and  went  on  chatter- 
ing cheerfully  enough. 

But  Don  Guzman  was  not  to  be  found  in  garden  or  in 
pleasaunce. 

“ Perhaps,”  at  last  said  a burgher’s  wife,  with  a toss  of 
her  head,  “ your  Ladyship  may  meet  with  him  at  Hankford’s 
oak.” 

“At  Hankford’s  oak  ! what  should  take  him  there?” 

“ Pleasant  company,  I reckon  ” (with  another  toss).  “ I 
heard  him  and  Mrs.  Salterne  talking  about  the  oak  just  now.” 

Cary  turned  pale  and  drew  in  his  breath. 

“Very  likely,”  said  Lady  Grenvile  quietly.  “Will  you 
walk  with  me  so  far,  Mr.  Cary  ?” 

“ To  the  world’s  end,  if  your  Ladyship  condescends  so  far.” 
And  off  they  went,  Lady  Grenvile  wishing  that  they  were 
going  anywhere  else,  but  afraid  to  let  Cary  go  alone ; and  sus- 
pecting, too,  that  some  one  or  other  ought  to  go. 

So  they  went  down  past  the  herds  of  deer,  by  a trim-kept 
path  into  the  lonely  dell  where  stood  the  fatal  oak  ; and,  as  they 
went,  Lady  Grenvile,  to  avoid  more  unpleasant  talk,  poured 
into  Cary’s  unheeding  ears  the  story  (which  he  probably  had 
heard  fifty  times  before)  how  old  Chief-justice  Hankford 
(whom  some  contradictory  myths  make  the  man  who  com- 
mitted Prince  Henry  to  prison  for  striking  him  on  the  bench), 
weary  of  life  and  sickened  at  the  horrors  and  desolations  of 
the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  went  down  to  his  house  at  Annery 
there,  and  bade  his  keeper  shoot  any  man  who,  passing  through 
the  deer-park  at  night,  should  refuse  to  stand  when  challenged; 
and  then  going  down  into  that  glen  himself,  and  hiding  him- 
self beneath  that  oak,  met  willingly  by  his  keeper’s  hand  the 
death  which  his  own  dared  not  inflict : but  ere  the  story  was 
half  done,  Cary  grasped  Lady  Grenvile’s  hand  so  tightly  that 
she  gave  a little  shriek  of  paiu. 

“There  they  are!”  whispered  he,  heedless  of  her;  and 
pointed  to  the  oak,  where,  half  hidden  by  the  tall  fern,  stood 
Rose  and  the  Spaniard. 

Her  head  was  on  his  bosom.  She  seemed  sobbing,  trem- 


250 


HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE 


[chap.  xii. 


bling ; he  talking  earnestly  and  passionately ; but  Lady  Gren- 
•yile’s  little  shriek  made  them  both  look  up.  To  turn  and  try 
to  escape  was  to  confess  all ; and  the  two,  collecting  themselves 
instantly,  walked  towards  her,  Rose  wishing  herself  fathoms 
deep  beneath  the  earth. 

“ Mind,  sir/’  whispered  Lady  Grenvile  as  they  came  up ; 
“ you  have  seen  nothing.” 

“ Madam  ?” 

“If  you  are  not  on  my  ground,  you  are  on  my  brother’s. 
Obey  me  !” 

Cary  bit  his  lip,  and  bowed  courteously  to  the  Don. 

“ I have  to  congratulate  you,  I hear,  Senor,  on  your 
approaching  departure.” 

“ I kiss  your  hands,  Senor,  in  return ; but  I question 
whether  it  be  a matter  of  congratulation,  considering  all  that  I 
leave  behind.” 

“ So  do  I,”  answered  Cary  bluntly  enough,  and  the  four 
walked  back  to  the  house,  Lady  Grenvile  taking  everything  for 
granted  with  the  most  charming  good  humour,  and  chatting  to 
her  three  silent  companions  till  they  gained  the  terrace  once 
more,  and  found  four  or  five  of  the  gentlemen,  with  Sir  Richard 
at  their  head,  proceeding  to  the  bowling-green. 

Lady  Grenvile,  in  an  agony  of  fear  about  the  quarrel  which 
she  knew  must  come,  would  have  gladly  whispered  five  words 
to  her  husband  : but  she  dared  not  do  it  before  the  Spaniard, 
and  dreaded,  too,  a faint  or  a scream  from  the  Rose,  whose 
father  was  of  the  party.  So  she  walked  on  with  her  fair 
prisoner,  commanding  Cary  to  escort  them  in,  and  the  Spaniard 
to  go  to  the  bowling-green. 

Cary  obeyed  : but  he  gave  her  the  slip  the  moment  she 
was  inside  the  door,  and  then  darted  off  to  the  gentlemen. 

His  heart  was  on  fire  : all  his  old  passion  for  the  Rose  had 
flashed  up  again  at  the  sight  of  her  with  a lover ; — and  that 
lover  a Spaniard  ! He  would  cut  his  throat  for  him,  if  steel 
could  do  it  ! Only  he  recollected  that  Salterne  was  there,  and 
shrank  from  exposing  Rose ; and  shrank,  too,  as  every  gentle- 
man should,  from  making  a public  quarrel  in  another  man’s 
house.  Never  mind.  Where  there  was  a will  there  was  a 
way.  He  could  get  him  into  a corner,  and  quarrel  with  him 
privately  about  the  cut  of  his  beard,  or  the  colour  of  his  ribbon. 
So  in  he  went ; and,  luckily  or  unluckily,  found  standing  together 
apart  from  the  rest,  Sir  Richard,  the  Don,  and  young  St.  Leger. 

“Well,  Don  Guzman,  you  have  given  us  wine-bibbers  the 


CHAP,  xii.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  251 

slip  this  afternoon.  I hope  you  have  been  well  employed 
in  the  meanwhile  V ’ 

“ Delightfully  to  myself,  Sehor,”  said  the  Don,  who,  enraged 
at  being  interrupted,  if  not  discovered,  was  as  ready  to  fight  as 
Cary,  but  disliked,  of  course,  an  explosion  as  much  as  he  did ; 
“and  to  others,  I doubt  not.” 

“ So  the  ladies  say,”  quoth  St.  Leger.  “ He  has  been 
making  them  all  cry  with  one  of  his  stories,  and  robbing  us 
meanwhile  of  the  pleasure  we  had  hoped  for  from  some  of  his 
Spanish  songs.” 

“ The  devil  take  Spanish  songs  !”  said  Cary,  in  a low  voice, 
but  loud  enough  for  the  Spaniard.  Don  Guzman  clapt  his 
hand  on  his  sword-hilt  instantly. 

“ Lieutenant  Cary,”  said  Sir  Richard  in  a stern  voice ; “ the 
wine  has  surely  made  you  forget  yourself!” 

“ As  sober  as  yourself,  most  worshipful  knight ; but  if  you 
want  a Spanish  song,  here’s  one ; and  a very  scurvy  one  it  is, 
like  its  subject — 

“ Don  Desperado 
Walked  on  the  Prado, 

And  there  he  met  his  enemy. 

He  pulled  out  a knife,  a, 

And  let  out  his  life,  a, 

And  fled  for  his  own  across  the  6ea. 

And  he  bowed  low  to  the  Spaniard. 

The  insult  was  too  gross  to  require  any  spluttering. 

“ Sehor  Cary,  we  meet  1” 

“ I thank  your  quick  apprehension,  Don  Guzman  Maria 
Magdalena  Sotomayor  de  Soto.  When,  where,  and  with  what 
weapons  1 ” 

“ For  God’s  sake,  gentlemen  ! Nephew  Arthur,  Cary  is 
your  guest ; do  you  know  the  meaning  of  this  ?” 

St.  Leger  was  silent.  Cary  answered  for  him. 

“ An  old  Irish  quarrel,  I assure  you,  sir.  A matter  of  years’ 
standing.  In  unlacing  the  Senor’s  helmet,  the  evening  that  he 
was  taken  prisoner,  I was  unlucky  enough  to  twitch  his  mus- 
tachios.  You  recollect  the  fact,  of  course,  Sehor  ?” 

“ Perfectly,”  said  the  Spaniard  ; and  then,  half-amused  and 
half-pleased,  in  spite  of  his  bitter  wrath,  at  Cary’s  quickness 
and  delicacy  in  shielding  Rose,  he  bowed,  and 

“ And  it  gives  me  much  pleasure  to  find  that  he  whom  I 
trust  to  have  the  pleasure  of  killing  to-morrow  morning  is  a 
gentleman  whose  nice  sense  of  honour  renders  him  thoroughly 
worthy  of  the  sword  of  a De  Soto.” 


252  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  [chap.  xii. 

Cary  bowed  in  return,  while  Sir  Richard,  who  saw  plainly 
enough  that  the  excuse  was  feigned,  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ What  weapons,  Senor  9”  asked  Will  again. 

“ I should  have  preferred  a horse  and  pistols,”  said  Don 
Guzman  after  a moment,  half  to  himself,  and  in  Spanish  ; “ they 
make  surer  work  of  it  than  bodkins  ; but”  (with  a sigh  and  one 
of  his  smiles)  “ beggars  must  not  be  choosers.” 

“The  best  horse  in  my  stable  is  at  your  service,  Senor,” 
said  Sir  Richard  Grenvile  instantly. 

“ And  in  mine  also,  Senor,”  said  Cary ; “ and  I shall  be 
happy  to  allow  you  a week  to  train  him,  if  lie  does  not  answer 
at  first  to  a Spanish  hand.” 

“ You  forget  in  your  courtesy,  gentle  sir,  that  the  insult 
being  with  me,  the  time  lies  with  me  also.  We  wipe  it  off 
to-morrow  morning  with  simple  rapiers  and  daggers.  Who  is 
your  second  9” 

“ Mr.  Arthur  St.  Leger  here,  Senor  : who  is  yours  9” 

The  Spaniard  felt  himself  alone  in  the  world  for  one 
moment ; and  then  answered  with  another  of  his  smiles, — 

“ Your  nation  possesses  the  soul  of  honour.  He  who  fights 
an  Englishman  needs  no  second.” 

“ And  he  who  fights  among  Englishmen  will  always  find 
one,”  said  Sir  Richard.  “ I am  the  fittest  second  for  my 
guest.” 

“You  only  add  one  more  obligation,  illustrious  cavalier,  to 
a two-years’  prodigality  of  favours,  which  I shall  never  be  able 
to  repay.” 

“But,  Nephew  Arthur,”  said  Grenvile,  “you  cannot  surely 
be  second  against  your  father’s  guest,  and  your  own  uncle.” 

“ I cannot  help  it,  sir ; I am  bound  by  an  oath,  as  Will  can 
tell  you.  I suppose  you  won’t  think  it  necessary  to  let  me 
blood  V’ 

“ You  half  deserve  it,  sirrah  !”  said  Sir  Richard,  who  was 
very  angry  : but  the  Don  interposed  quickly. 

“ Heaven  forbid,  Senors  ! We  are  no  French  duellists,  who 
are  mad  enough  to  make  four  or  six  lives  answer  for  the  sins  of 
two.  This  gentleman  and  I have  quarrel  enough  between  us, 
I suspect,  to  make  a right  bloody  encounter.” 

“ The  dependence  is  good  enough,  sir,”  said  Cary,  licking 
his  sinful  lips  at  the  thought.  “Very  well.  Rapiers  and 
shirts  at  three  to-morrow  morning — Is  that  the  bill  of  fare  ? 
Ask  Sir  Richard  where,  A tty  1 It  is  against  punctilio  now  for 
me  to  speak  to  him  till  after  I am  killed.” 


CHAP.  XII.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  255 

“ On  the  sands  opposite.  The  tide  will  he  out  at  three. 
And  now,  gallant  gentlemen,  let  us  join  the  bowlers.” 

And  so  they  went  back  and  spent  a merry  evening,  all 
except  poor  Rose,  who,  ere  she  went  back,  had  poured  all  her 
sorrows  into  Lady  Gren vile’s  ear.  For  the  kind  woman,  know- 
ing that  she  was  motherless  and  guileless,  carried  her  off  into 
Mrs.  St.  LegeFs  chamber,  and  there  entreated  her  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  heaped  her  with  pity,  but  with  no  comfort.  For 
indeed,  what  comfort  was  there  to  give  1 

Three  o’clock,  upon  a still  pure  bright  Midsummer  morn- 
ing. A broad  and  yellow  sheet  of  ribbed  tide-sands,  through 
which  the  shallow  river  wanders  from  one  hill-foot  to  the 
other,  whispering  round  dark  knolls  of  rock,  and  under  low 
tree-fringed  cliffs,  and  banks  of  golden  broom.  A mile  below, 
the  long  bridge  and  the  wdiite  walled  town,  all  sleeping  pearly 
in  the  soft  haze,  beneath  a cloudless  vault  of  blue.  The 
white  glare  of  dawn,  which  last  night  hung  high  in  the  north- 
west, has  travelled  now  to  the  north-east,  and  above  the 
wooded  wall  of  the  hills  the  sky  is  flushing  with  rose  and 
amber. 

A long  line  of  gulls  goes  wailing  up  inland  ; the  rooks  from 
Annery  come  cawing  and  sporting  round  the  corner  at  Land- 
cross,  while  high  above  them  four  or  five  herons  flap  solemnly 
along  to  find  their  breakfast  on  the  shallows.  The  pheasants 
and  partridges  are  clucking  merrily  in  the  long  wet  grass ; 
every  copse  and  hedgerow  rings  with  the  voice  of  birds  : but 
the  lark,  who  has  been  singing  since  midnight  in  the  “ blank 
height  of  the  dark,”  suddenly  hushes  his  carol  and  drops  head- 
long among  the  corn,  as  a broad-winged  buzzard  swings  from 
some  wooded  peak  into  the  abyss  of  the  valley,  and  hangs 
high-poised  above  the  heavenward  songster.  The  air  is  full  of 
perfume ; sweet  clover,  new-mown  hay,  the  fragrant  breath  of 
kine,  the  dainty  scent  of  sea-weed  wreaths  and  fresh  wet  sand." 
Glorious  day,  glorious  place,  “ bridal  of  earth  and  sky,”  decked 
well  with  bridal  garlands,  bridal  perfumes,  bridal  songs, — 
What  do  those  four  cloaked  figures  there  by  the  river  brink,  a 
dark  spot  on  the  fair  face  of  the  summer  morn  ? 

Yet  one  is  as  cheerful  as  if  he  too,  like  all  nature  round 
him,  were  going  to  a wedding ; and  that  is  Will  Cary.  He 
has  been  bathing  down  below,  to  cool  his  brain  and  steady  his 
hand ; and  he  intends  to  stop  Don  Guzman  Maria  Magdalena 
Sotomayor  de  Soto’s  wooing  for  ever  and  a day.  The  Spaniard 


254  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  [chap.  xii. 

is  in  a very  different  mood  ; fierce  and  haggard,  he  is  pacing  up 
and  down  the  sand.  He  intends  to  kill  Will  Cary  ; but  then  ? 
Will  he  be  the  nearer  to  Rose  by  doing  so  'i  Can  he  stay  in 
Bideford  1 Will  she  go  with  him  ? Shall  he  stoop  to  stain 
his  family  by  marrying  a burgher’s  daughter  1 It  is  a confused, 
all  but  desperate  business  ; and  Don  Guzman  is  certain  but  of 
one  thing,  that  he  is  madly  in  love  with  this  fair  witch,  and 
that  if  she  refuse  him,  then,  rather  than  see  her  accept  another 
man,  he  would  kill  her  with  his  own  hands. 

Sir  Richard  Grenvile  too  is  in  no  very  pleasant  humour,  as 
St.  Leger  soon  discovers,  when  the  two  seconds  begin  whisper- 
ing over  their  arrangements. 

“ We  cannot  have  either  of  them  killed,  Arthur.” 

“ Mr.  Cary  swears  he  will  kill  the  Spaniard,  sir.” 

“ He  shan’t.  The  Spaniard  is  my  guest.  I am  answer- 
able  for  him  to  Leigh,  and  for  his  ransom  too.  And  how  can 
Leigh  accept  the  ransom  if  the  man  is  not  given  up  safe  and 
sound  1 They  won’t  pay  for  a dead  carcass,  boy  ! The  man’s 
life  is  worth  two  hundred  pounds.” 

“ A very  bad  bargain,  sir,  for  those  who  pay  the  said  two 
hundred  for  the  rascal ; but  what  if  he  kills  Cary  V ’ 

“ Worse  still.  Cary  must  not  be  killed.  I am  very  angry 
with  him,  but  he  is  too  good  a lad  to  be  lost  ; and  his  father 
would  never  forgive  us.  We  must  strike  up  their  swords  at 
the  first  scratch.” 

“ It  will  make  them  very  mad,  sir.” 

“ Hang  them  ! let  them  fight  us  then,  if  they  don’t  like 
our  counsel.  It  must  be,  Arthur.” 

“Be  sure,  sir,”  said  Arthur,  “that  whatsoever  you  shall 
command  I shall  perform.  It  is  only  too  great  an  honour  to  a 
young  man  as  I am  to  find  myself  in  the  same  duel  with 
your  worship,  and  to  have  the  advantage  of  your  wisdom  and 
experience.” 

Sir  Richard  smiles,  and  says — “ Now,  gentlemen  ! are  you 
ready  1” 

The  Spaniard  pulls  out  a little  crucifix,  and  kisses  it 
devoutly,  smiting  on  his  breast ; crosses  himself  two  or  three 
times,  and  says — “ Most  willingly,  Senor.” 

Cary  kisses  no  crucifix,  but  says  a prayer  nevertheless. 
Cloaks  and  doublets  are  tossed  off,  the  men  placed,  the 
rapiers  measured  hilt  and  point  ; Sir  Richard  and  St.  Leger 
place  themselves  right  and  left  of  the  combatants,  facing  each 
other,  the  points  of  their  drawn  swords  on  the  sand.  Cary 


chap.  XII.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  255 

and  the  Spaniard  stand  for  a moment  quite  upright,  their 
.sword-arms  stretched  straight  before  them,  holding  the  long 
rapier  horizontally,  the  left  hand  clutching  the  dagger  close 
to  their  breasts.  So  they  stand  eye  to  eye,  with  clenched 
teeth  and  pale  crushed  lips,  while  men  might  count  a score ; 
St.  Leger  can  hear  the  beating  of  his  own  heart ; Sir  Richard 
is  praying  inwardly  that  no  life  may  be  lost.  Suddenly  there 
is  a quick  turn  of  Cary’s  wrist  and  a leap  forward.  The 
Spaniard’s  dagger  flashes,  and  the  rapier  is  turned  aside  ; Cary 
springs  six  feet  back  as  the  Spaniard  rushes  on  him  in  turn. 
Parry,  thrust,  parry — the  steel  rattles,  the  sparks  fly,  the  men 
breathe  fierce  and  loud  ; the  devil’s  game  is  begun  in  earnest. 

Five  minutes  have  the  two  had  instant  death  a short  six 
inches  off  from  those  wild  sinful  hearts  of  theirs,  and  not  a 
scratch  has  been  given.  Yes  ! the  Spaniard’s  rapier  passes 
under  Cary’s  left  arm  : he  bleeds. 

“A  hit!  a hit!  Strike  up,  Atty !”  and  the  swords  are 
struck  up  instantly. 

Cary,  nettled  by  the  smart,  tries  to  close  with  his  foe,  but 
the  seconds  cross  their  swords  before  him. 

“ It  is  enough,  gentlemen.  Don  Guzman’s  honour  is 
satisfied  !” 

“ But  not  my  revenge,  Senor,”  says  the  Spaniard,  with  a 
frown.  “ This  duel  is  a Voutrance , on  my  part ; and,  I believe, 
on  Mr.  Cary’s  also.” 

“ By  heaven,  it  is  !”  says  Will,  trying  to  push  past.  “ Let 
me  go,  Arthur  St.  Leger ; one  of  us  must  down.  Let  me  go, 
I say ! ” 

“ If  you  stir,  Mr.  Cary,  you  have  to  do  with  Richard  Gren- 
vile  ! ” thunders  the  lion  voice.  “ I am  angry  enough  with  you 
for  having  brought  on  this  duel  at  all.  Don’t  provoke  me  still 
further,  young  hot-head  ! ” 

Cary  stops  sulkily. 

“You  do  not  know  all,  Sir  Richard,  or  you  would  not  speak 
in  this  way.” 

“I  do,  sir,  all : and  I shall  have  the  honour  of  talking  it 
over  with  Don  Guzman  myself.” 

“ Hey !”  said  the  Spaniard.  “You  came  here  as  my  second, 
Sir  Richard,  as  I understood  : but  not  as  my  counsellor.” 

“ Arthur,  take  your  man  away ! Cary  ! obey  me  as  you 
would  your  father,  sir  ! Can  you  not  trust  Richard  Grenvile  ?” 

“Come  away,  for  God’s  sake  !”  says  poor  Arthur,  dragging 
Cary’s  sword  from  him  ; “ Sir  Richard  must  know  best !” 


256  HOW  BIDEFORD  BRIDGE  [CHAP,  xn 

So  Cary  is  led  off  sulking,  and  Sir  Richard  turns  to  the 
Spaniard, 

“And  now,  Don  Guzman,  allow  me,  though  much  against 
my  will,  to  speak  to  you  as  a friend  to  a friend.  You  will 
pardon  me  if  I say  that  I cannot  but  have  seen  last  night’s 
devotion  to ” 

“You  will  be  pleased,  Sehor,  not  to  mention  the  name  of 
any  lady  to  whom  I may  have  shown  devotion.  I am  not 
accustomed  to  have  my  little  affairs  talked  over  by  any  unbidden 
counsellors.” 

“Well,  Sehor,  if  you  take  offence,  you  take  that  which  is 
not  given.  Only  I warn  you,  with  all  apologies  for  any  seem- 
ing forwardness,  that  the  quest  on  which  you  seem  to  be  is  one 
on  which  you  will  not  be  allowed  to  proceed.” 

“And  who  will  stop  me  ?”  asked  the  Spaniard,  with  a fierce 
oath. 

“You  are  not  aware,  illustrious  Sehor,”  said  Sir  Richard, 
parrying  the  question,  “ that  our  English  laity  look  upon  mixed 
marriages  with  full  as  much  dislike  as  your  own  ecclesiastics.” 

“Marriage,  sir?  Who  gave  you  leave  to  mention  that 
word  to  me  V* 

Sir  Richard’s  brow  darkened ; the  Spaniard,  in  his  insane 
pride,  had  forced  upon  the  good  knight  a suspicion  which  was 
not  really  just. 

“Is  it  possible,  then,  Sehor  Don  Guzman,  that  I am  to 
have  the  shame  of  mentioning  a baser  word  ?” 

“ Mention  what  you  will,  sir.  All  words  are  the  same  to 
me ; for,  just  or  unjust,  I shall  answer  them  alike  only  by  my 
sword.” 

“You  will  do  no  such  thing,  sir.  You  forget  that  I am 
your  host.” 

“ And  do  you  suppose  that  you  have  therefore  a right  to 
insult  me  ? Stand  on  your  guard,  sir  !” 

Grenvile  answered  by  slapping  his  own  rapier  home  into 
the  sheath  with  a quiet  smile. 

“ Sehor  Don  Guzman  must  be  well  enough  aware  of  who 
Richard  Grenvile  is,  to  know  that  he  may  claim  the  right  of 
refusing  duel  to  any  man,  if  he  shall  so  think  fit.” 

“Sir!”  cried  the  Spaniard  with  an  oath,  “this  is  too  much! 
Do  you  dare  to  hint  that  I am  unworthy  of  your  sword?  Know, 
insolent  Englishman,  I am  not  merely  a De  Soto, — though 
that,  by  St.  James,  were  enough  for  you  or  any  man.  I am 
a Sotomayor,  a Mendoza,  a Bovadilla,  a Losada,  a— sir! 


CHAP,  xii.]  DINED  AT  ANNERY  HOUSE.  257 

I have  blood  royal  in  my  veins,  and  you  dare  to  refuse  my 
challenge?” 

“ Richard  Grenvile  can  show  quarterings,  probably,  against 
even  Don  Guzman  Maria  Magdalena  Sotomayor  de  Soto,  or 
against  (with  no  offence  to  the  unquestioned  nobility  of  your 
pedigree)  the  bluest  blood  of  Spain.  But  he  can  show,  more- 
over, thank  God,  a reputation  which  raises  him  as  much  above 
the  imputation  of  cowardice,  as  it  does  above  that  of  discourtesy. 
If  you  think  fit,  Sehor,  to  forget  what  you  have  just,  in  very 
excusable  anger,  vented,  and  to  return  with  me,  you  will  find 
me  still,  as  ever,  your  most  faithful  servant  and  host.  If  other- 
wise, you  have  only  to  name  whither  you  wish  your  mails  to  be 
sent,  and  I shall,  with  unfeigned  sorrow,  obey  your  commands 
concerning  them.” 

The  Spaniard  bowed  stiffly,  answered,  “ To  the  nearest 
tavern,  Sehor,”  and  then  strode  away.  His  baggage  was  sent 
thither.  He  took  a boat  down  to  Appledore  that  very  after- 
noon, and  vanished,  none  knew  whither.  A very  courteous 
note  to  Lady  Grenvile,  enclosing  the  jewel  which  he  had  been 
used  to  wear  round  his  neck,  was  the  only  memorial  he  left 
behind  him  : except,  indeed,  the  scar  on  Cary’s  arm,  and  poor 
Rose’s  broken  heart. 

Now  county  towns  are  scandalous  places  at  best ; and 
though  all  parties  tried  to  keep  the  duel  secret,  yet,  of  course, 
before  noon  all  Bideford  knew  what  had  happened,  and  a great 
deal  more ; and  what  was  even  worse,  Rose,  in  an  agony  of 
terror,  had  seen  Sir  Richard  Grenvile  enter  her  father’s  private 
room,  and  sit  there  closeted  with  him  for  an  hour  and  more ; 
and  when  he  went,  upstairs  came  old  Salterne,  with  his  stick 
in  his  hand,  and  after  rating  her  soundly  for  far  worse  than  a 
flirt,  gave  her  (I  am  sorry  to  have  to  say  it,  but  such  wa,s  the 
mild  fashion  of  paternal  rule  in  those  times,  even  over  such 
daughters  as  Lady  Jane  Grey,  if  Roger  Ascham  is  to  be  believed) 
such  a beating  that  her  poor  sides  were  black  and  blue  for  many 
a day ; and  then  putting  her  on  a pillion  behind  him,  carried 
her  off  twenty  miles  to  her  old  prison  at  Stow  Mill,  command- 
ing her  aunt  to  tame  down  her  saucy  blood  with  bread  of  afflic- 
tion and  water  of  affliction.  Which  commands  were  willingly 
enough  fulfilled  by  the  old  dame,  who  had  always  borne  a 
grudge  against  Rose  for  being  rich  while  she  was  poor,  and 
pretty  while  her  daughter  was  plain;  so  that  between  flouts, 
and  sneers,  and  watchings,  and  pretty  open  hints  that  she  was 
a disgrace  to  her  family,  and  no  better  than  she  should  be,  the 

s 


258 


HOW  THE  GOLDEN  HIND 


[chap.  xiii. 

poor  innocent  child  watered  her  couch  with  her  tears  for  a fort- 
night or  more,  stretching  out  her  hands  to  the  wide  Atlantic, 
and  calling  wildly  to  Don  Guzman  to  return  and  take  her  where 
he  would,  and  she  would  live  for  him  and  die  for  him ; and  per- 
haps she  did  not  call  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOW  THE  GOLDEN  HIND  CAME  HOME  AGAIN. 

“ The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave  ; 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  ocean  was  their  grave.” 

Campbell. 

“ So  you  see,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hawkins,  having  the  silver,  as  your 
own  eyes  show  you,  beside  the  ores  of  lead,  manganese,  and 
copper,  and  above  all  this  gossan  (as  the  Cornish  call  it),  which 
I suspect  to  be  not  merely  the  matrix  of  the  ore,  but  also  the 
very  crude  form  and  materia  prima  of  all  metals — you  mark 
me  ? — If  my  recipes,  which  I had  from  Doctor  Dee,  succeed  only 
half  so  well  as  I expect,  then  I refine  out  the  Luna,  the  silver, 
lay  it  by,  and  transmute  the  remaining  ores  into  Sol,  gold. 
Whereupon  Peru  and  Mexico  become  superfluities,  and  England 
the  mistress  of  the  globe.  Strange,  no  doubt;  distant,  no  doubt: 
but  possible,  my  dear  madam,  possible !” 

“ And  what  good  to  you  if  it  be,  Mr.  Gilbert  1 If  you  could 
find  a philosopher’s  stone  to  turn  sinners  into  saints,  now  : — 
but  nought  save  God’s  grace  can  do  that : and  that  last  seems 
ofttimes  over  long  in  coming.”  And  Mrs.  Hawkins  sighed. 

“ But  indeed,  my  dear  madam,  conceive  now. — The  Comb 
Martin  mine  thus  becomes  a gold  mine,  perhaps  inexhaustible ; 
yields  me  wherewithal  to  carry  out  my  North-West  patent;  mean- 
while my  brother  Humphrey  holds  Newfoundland,  and  builds 
me  fresh  ships  year  by  year  (for  the  forests  of  pine  are  bound- 
less) for  my  China  voyage.” 

“ Sir  Humphrey  has  better  thoughts  in  his  dear  heart  than 
gold,  Mr.  Adrian ; a very  close  and  gracious  walker  he  has  been 
this  seven  year.  I wish  my  Captain  John  were  so  too.” 

“ And  how  do  you  know  I have  nought  better  in  my  mind’s 
eye  than  gold  ? Or,  indeed,  what  better  could  I have  ? Is  not 
gold  the  Spaniard’s  strength — the  very  mainspring  of  Antichrist? 


CAME  HOME  AGAIN. 


259 


CHAP.  XIII.] 

By  gold  only,  therefore,  can  we  out-wrestle  him.  You  shake 
your  head  : but  say,  dear  madam  (for  gold  England  must  have), 
which  is  better,  to  make  gold  bloodlessly  at  home,  or  take  it 
bloodily  abroad  ?” 

“ Oh,  Mr.  Gilbert,  Mr.  Gilbert ! is  it  not  written,  that  those 
who  make  haste  to  be  rich,  pierce  themselves  through  with  many 
sorrows'?  Oh,  Mr.  Gilbert ! God's  blessing  is  not  on  it  all.” 

“ Not  on  you,  madam?  Be  sure  that  brave  Captain  John 
Hawkins’s  star  told  me  a different  tale,  when  I cast  his  nativity 
for  him. — Born  under  stormy  planets,  truly:  but  under  right 
royal  and  fortunate  ones.” 

“ Ah,  Mr.  Adrian  ! I am  a simple  body,  and  you  a great 
philosopher  : but  I hold  there  is  no  star  for  the  seaman  like  the 
Star  of  Bethlehem ; and  that  goes  with  £ peace  on  earth  and 
good  will  to  men/  and  not  with  such  arms  as  that,  Mr.  Adrian. 
I can’t  abide  to  look  upon  them.” 

And  she  pointed  up  to  one  of  the  bosses  of  the  ribbed  oak- 
roof,  on  which  was  emblazoned  the  fatal  crest  which  Clarencieux 
Hervey  had  granted  years  before  to  her  husband,  the  “Demi- 
Moor  proper,  bound.” 

“ Ah,  Mr.  Gilbert ! since  first  he  went  to  Guinea  after  those 
poor  negroes,  little  lightness  has  my  heart  known  ; and  the  very 
day  that  that  crest  was  put  up  in  our  grand  new  house,  as  the 
parson  read  the  first  lesson,  there  was  this  text  in  it,  Mr.  Gil- 
bert, ‘ Woe  to  him  that  buildeth  his  house  by  iniquity,  and  his 
chambers  by  wrong.  Shalt  thou  live  because  thou  closest  thy- 
self in  cedar?’  And  it  went  into  my  ears  like  fire,  Mr.  Gilbert, 
and  into  my  heart  like  lead  ; and  when  the  parson  went  on, 
£ Did  not  thy  father  eat  and  drink,  and  do  judgment  and  justice? 
Then  it  was  well  with  him/  I thought  of  good  old  Captain  Will ; 
and — I tell  you,  Mr.  Gilbert,  those  negroes  are  on  my  soul  from 
morning  until  night ! We  are  all  mighty  grand  now,  and  money 
comes  in  fast : but  the  Lord  will  require  the  blood  of  them  at 
our  hands  yet,  He  will !” 

“My  dearest  madam,  who  can  prosper  more  than  you?  If 
your  husband  copied  the  Dons  too  closely  once  or  twice  in  the 
matter  of  those  negroes  (which  I do  hot  deny),  was  he  not 
punished  at  once  when  he  lost  ships,  men,  all  but  life,  at  St. 
Juan  d’Ulloa?” 

££  Ay,  yes,”  she  said ; 11  and  that  did  give  me  a bit  of  comfort, 
especially  when  the  queen — God  save  her  tender  heart  ! — was  so 
sharp  with  him  for  pity  of  the  poor  wretches  : but  it  has  not 
mended  him.  He  is  growing  fast  like  the  rest  now,  Mr.  Gilbert, 


260  HOW  THE  GOLDEN  HIND  [ciiap.  xiil 

greedy  to  win,  and  niggardly  to  spend  (God  forgive  him  !)  and 
always  fretting  and  plotting  for  some  new  gain,  and  envying 
and  grudging  at  Drake,  and  all  who  are  deeper  in  the  snare  of 
prosperity  than  he  is.  Gold,  gold,  nothing  but  gold  in  every 
mouth — there  it  is  ! Ah  ! I mind  when  Plymouth  was  a quiet 
little  God-fearing  place  as  God  could  smile  upon  : but  ever  since 
my  John,  and  Sir  Francis,  and  poor  Mr.  Oxenham  found  out 
the  way  to  the  Indies,  it’s  been  a sad  place.  Not  a sailor’s  wife 
but  is  crying  ‘ Give,  give,’  like  the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech ; 
and  every  woman  must  drive  her  husband  out  across  seas  to 
bring  her  home  money  to  squander  on  hoods  and  farthingales, 
and  go  mincing  with  outstretched  necks,  and  wanton  eyes ; and 
they  will  soon  learn  to  do  worse  than  that,  for  the  sake  of  gain. 
But  the  Lord’s  hand  will  be  against  their  tires  and  crisping- 
pins,  their  mufflers  and  farthingales,  as  it  was  against  the  Jews 
of  old.  Ah,  dear  me  ! ” 

The  two  interlocutors  in  this  dialogue  were  sitting  in  a low 
oak-panelled  room  in  Plymouth  town,  handsomely  enough  fur- 
nished, adorned  with  carving  and  gilding  and  coats  of  arms,  and 
noteworthy  for  many  strange  knicknacks,  Spanish  gold  and  silver 
vessels  on  the  sideboard ; strange  birds  and  skins,  and  charts 
and  rough  drawings  of  coast  which  hung  about  the  room  ; while 
over  the  fireplace,  above  the  portrait  of  old  Captain  Will 
Hawkins,  pet  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  hung  the  Spanish  ensign 
which  Captain  John  had  taken  in  fair  fight  at  Rio  de  la  Hacha 
fifteen  years  before,  when,  with  two  hundred  men,  he  seized  the 
town  in  despite  of  ten  hundred  Spanish  soldiers,  and  watered 
his  ship  triumphantly  at  the  enemy’s  wells. 

The  gentleman  was  a tall  fair  man,  with  a broad  and  lofty 
forehead,  wrinkled  with  study,  and  eyes  weakened  by  long  por- 
ing over  the  crucible  and  the  furnace. 

The  lady  had  once  been  comely  enough : but  she  was  aged 
and  worn,  as  sailors’  wives  are  apt  to  be,  by  many  sorrows. 
Many  a sad  day  had  she  had  already ; for  although  John 
Hawkins,  port-admiral  of  Plymouth,  and  Patriarch  of  British 
shipbuilders,  was  a faithful  husband  enough,  and  as  ready  to 
forgive  as  he  was  to  quarrel,  yet  he  was  obstinate  and  ruthless, 
and  in  spite  of  his  religiosity  (for  all  men  were  religious  then) 
was  by  no  means  a “ consistent  walker.” 

And  sadder  days  were  in  store  for  her,  poor  soul.  Nine 
years  hence  she  would  be  asked  to  name  her  son’s  brave  new 
ship,  and  would  christen  it  The  Repentance,  giving  no  reason 
in  her  quiet  steadfast  way  (so  says  her  son  Sir  Richard)  but  that 


CAME  HOME  AGAIN. 


261 


CHAP.  XIII.] 

“ Repentance  was  the  best  ship  in  which  we  could  sail  to  the 
harbour  of  heaven  and  she  would  hear  that  Queen  Elizabeth, 
complaining  of  the  name  for  an  unlucky  one,  had  re-christened 
her  The  Dainty,  not  without  some  by-quip,  perhaps,  at  the  cha- 
racter of  her  most  dainty  captain,  Richard  Hawkins,  the  com- 
plete seaman  and  Euphuist  afloat,  of  whom,  perhaps,  more  here- 
after. 

With  sad  eyes  Mrs.  (then  Lady)  Hawkins  would  see  that 
gallant  bark  sail  Westward-ho,  to  go  the  world  around,  as  many 
another  ship  sailed ; and  then  wait,  as  many  a mother  beside 
had  waited,  for  the  sail  which  never  returned  • till,  dim  and 
uncertain,  came  tidings  of  her  boy  fighting  for  four  days  three 
great  Armadas  (for  the  coxcomb  had  his  father’s  heart  in  him 
after  all),  a prisoner,  wounded,  ruined,  languishing  for  weary 
years  in  Spanish  prisons.  And  a sadder  day  than  that  was  in 
store,  when  a gallant  fleet  should  round  the  Ram  Head,  not 
with  drum  and  trumpet,  but  with  solemn  minute-guns,  and  all 
flags  half-mast  high,  to  tell  her  that  her  terrible  husband’s  work 
was  done,  his  terrible  heart  broken  by  failure  and  fatigue,  and 
his  body  laid  by  Drake’s  beneath  the  far-off  tropic  seas. 

And  if,  at  the  close  of  her  eventful  life,  one  gleam  of  sun- 
shine opened  for  a while,  when  her  boy  Richard  returned  to  her 
bosom  from  his  Spanish  prison,  to  be  knighted  for  his  valour, 
and  made  a Privy  Councillor  for  his  wisdom ; yet  soon,  how 
soon,  was  the  old  cloud  to  close  in  again  above  her,  until  her 
weary  eyes  should  open  in  the  light  of  Paradise.  For  that  son 
dropped  dead,  some  say  at  the  very  council-table,  leaving  behind 
him  nought  but  broken  fortunes,  and  huge  purposes  which  never 
were  fulfilled ; and  the  stormy  star  of  that  bold  race  was  set 
for  ever,  and  Lady  Hawkins  bowed  her  weary  head  and  died, 
the  groan  of  those  stolen  negroes  ringing  in  her  ears,  having 
lived  long  enough  to  see  her  husband’s  youthful  sin  become  a 
national  institution,  and  a national  curse  for  generations  yet 
unborn. 

I know  not  why  she  opened  her  heart  that  night  to  Adrian 
Gilbert,  with  a frankness  which  she  would  hardly  have  dared 
to  use  to  her  own  family.  Perhaps  it  was  that  Adrian,  like  his 
great  brothers,  Humphrey  and  Raleigh,  was  a man  full  of  all 
lofty  and  delicate  enthusiasms,  tender  and  poetical,  such  as 
women  cling  to  when  their  hearts  are  lonely ; but  so  it  was ; 
and  Adrian,  half  ashamed  of  his  own  ambitious  dreams,  sate 
looking  at  her  a while  in  silence ; and  then — 

“ The  Lord  be  with  you,  dearest  lady.  Strange,  how  you 


262 


HOW  THE  GOLDEN  HIND 


[CHAP.  XIII. 

women  sit  at  home  to  love  and  suffer,  while  we  men  rush  forth 
to  break  our  hearts  and  yours  against  rocks  of  our  own  seeking! 
Ah  well ! were  it  not  for  Scripture,  I should  have  thought  that 
Adam,  rather  than  Eve,  had  been  the  one  who  plucked  the  fruit 
of  the  forbidden  tree.” 

“We  women,  I fear,  did  the  deed  nevertheless ; for  we  bear 
the  doom  of  it  our  lives  long.” 

“You  always  remind  me,  madam,  of  my  dear  Mrs.  Leigh  of 
Burrough,  and  her  counsels.” 

“ Do  you  see  her  often  ? I hear  of  her  as  one  of  the  Lord’s 
most  precious  vessels.” 

“ I would  have  done  more  ere  now  than  see  her,”  said  he 
with  a blush,  “ had  she  allowed  me  : but  she  lives  only  for  the 
memory  of  her  husband  and  the  fame  of  her  noble  sons.” 

“As  he  spoke  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked,  wrapped  in 
his  rough  sea-gown,  none  other  than  one  of  those  said  noble  sons. 
Adrian  turned  pale. 

“ Amyas  Leigh  ! What  brings  you  hither  ? How  fares 
my  brother1?  Where  is  the  ship  ?” 

“ Your  brother  is  well,  Mr.  Gilbert.  The  Golden  Hind  is 
gone  on  to  Dartmouth,  with  Mr.  Hayes.  I came  ashore  here, 
meaning  to  go  north  to  Bideford,  ere  I went  to  London.  I 
called  at  Drake’s  just  now,  but  he  was  away.” 

“ The  Golden  Hind?  What  brings  her  home  so  soon?” 
“Yet  welcome  ever,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Hawkins.  “This  is  a 
great  surprise,  though.  Captain  John  did  not  look  for  you  till 
next  year.” 

Amyas  was  silent. 

“ Something  is  wrong  !”  cried  Adrian.  “ Speak  !” 

Amyas  tried,  but  could  not. 

“Will  you  drive  a man  mad,  sir  ? Has  the  adventure 
failed?  You  said  my  brother  was  well.” 

“ He  is  well.” 

“ Then  what — Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  fashion,  sir?” 
and  springing  up,  Adrian  rushed  forward,  and  held  the  candle 
to  Amyas’s  face. 

Amyas’s  lip  quivered,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  Adrian’s  shoulder. 
“Your  great  and  glorious  brother,  sir,  is  better  bestowed 
than  in  settling  Newfoundland.” 

“ Dead  ?”  shrieked  Adrian. 

“ He  is  with  the  God  whom  he  served !” 

“ He  was  always  with  Him,  like  Enoch  : parable  me  no 
parables,  if  you  love  me,  sir  !” 


CHAP.  XIII.]  CAME  HOME  AGAIN.  263 

“And,  like  Enoch,  he  was  not;  for  God  took  him.” 

Adrian  clasped  his  hands  over  his  forehead,  and  leaned 
against  the  table. 

“ Go  on,  sir,  go  on.  God  will  give  me  strength  to  hear  all.” 

And  gradually  Amyas  opened  to  Adrian  that  tragic  story, 
which  Mr.  Hayes  has  long  ago  told  far  too  well  to  allow  a 
second  edition  of  it  from  me : of  the  unruliness  of  the  men, 
ruffians,  as  I said  before,  caught  up  at  hap-hazard ; of  con- 
spiracies to  carry  off  the  ships,  plunder  of  fishing  vessels,  deser- 
tions multiplying  daily ; licences  from  the  General  to  the  lazy 
and  fearful  to  return  home  : till  Adrian  broke  out  with  a groan — 

“ From  him  1 Conspired  against  him  ? Deserted  from 
him  ? Dotards,  buzzards  ! Where  would  they  have  found 
such  another  leader  ?” 

“Your  illustrious  brother,  sir,”  said  Amyas,  “if  you  will 
pardon  me,  was  a very  great  philosopher,  but  not  so  much  of  a 
General.” 

“ General,  sir  % Where  was  braver  man  V’ 

“Not  on  God’s  earth:  but  that  does  not  make  a General, 
sir.  If  Cortes  had  been  brave  and  no  more,  Mexico  would 
have  been  Mexico  still.  The  truth  is,  sir,  Cortes,  like  my 
Captain  Drake,  knew  when  to  hang  a man;  and  your  great 
brother  did  not.” 

Amyas,  as  I suppose,  was  right.  Gilbert  was  a man  who 
could  be  angry  enough  at  baseness  or  neglect,  but  who  was  too 
kindly  to  punish  it ; he  was  one  who  could  form  the  wisest  and 
best-digested  plans,  but  who  could  not  stoop  to  that  hail-fellow- 
well-met  drudgery  among  his  subordinates  which  has  been  the 
talisman  of  great  captains. 

Then  Amyas  went  on  to  tell  the  rest  of  his  story ; the  set- 
ting sail  from  St.  John’s  to  discover  the  southward  coast  ; Sir 
Humphrey’s  chivalrous  determination  to  go  in  the  little  Squirrel 
of  only  ten  tons,  and  “overcharged  with  nettings,  fights,  and 
small  ordnance,”  not  only  because  she  was  more  fit  to  examine 
the  creeks,  but  because  he  had  heard  of  some  taunt  against  him 
among  the  men,  that  he  was  afraid  of  the  sea. 

After  that,  woe  on  woe ; how,  seven  days  after  they  left 
Cape  Raz,  their  largest  ship,  the  Delight,  after  she  had  “ most 
part  of  the  night  ” (I  quote  Hayes),  “ like  the  swan  that  singeth 
before  her  death,  continued  in  sounding  of  trumpets,  drums,  and 
fifes,  also  winding  of  the  cornets  and  hautboys,  and,  in  the  end 
of  their  jollity,  left  off  with  the  battle  and  doleful  knells,” 
struck  the  next  day  (the  Golden  Hind  and  the  Squirrel  sheering 


264 


HOW  THE  GOLDEN  HIND 


[CHAP.  XIII. 


off  just  in  time)  upon  unknown  shoals ; where  were  lost  all  but 
fourteen,  and  among  them  Frank’s  philosopher  friend,  poor 
Budseus ; and  those  who  escaped,  after  all  horrors  of  cold  and 
famine,  were  cast  on  shore  in  Newfoundland.  How,  worn  out 
with  hunger  and  want  of  clothes,  the  crews  of  the  two  remain- 
ing ships  persuaded  Sir  Humphrey  to  sail  toward  England  on 
the  31st  of  August ; and  on  “ that  very  instant,  even  in  wind- 
ing about,”  beheld  close  alongside  “ a very  lion  in  shape,  hair, 
and  colour,  not  swimming,  but  sliding  on  the  water,  with  his 
whole  body ; who  passed  along,  turning  his  head  to  and  fro, 
yawning  and  gaping  wide,  with  ugly  demonstration  of  long 
teeth  and  glaring  eyes ; and  to  bid  us  farewell  (coming  right 
against  the  Hind)  he  sent  forth  a horrible  voice,  roaring  or 
bellowing  as  doth  a lion.”  “ What  opinion  others  had  thereof, 
and  chiefly  the  General  himself,  I forbear  to  deliver ; but  he 
took  it  for  bonum  omen,  rejoicing  that  he  was  to  war  against 
such  an  enemy,  if  it  were  the  devil.” 

“And  the  devil  it  was,  doubtless,”  said  Adrian,  “the  roar- 
ing lion  who  goes  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour” 

“ He  has  not  got  your  brother,  at  least,”  quoth  Amyas. 

“ No,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Hawkins  (smile  not,  reader,  for  those 
were  days  in  which  men  believed  in  the  devil)  ; “he  roared  for 
joy  to  think  how  many  poor  souls  would  be  left  still  in  heathen 
darkness  by  Sir  Humphrey’s  death.  God  be  with  that  good 
knight,  and  send  all  mariners  where  he  is  now  !” 

Then  Amyas  told  the  last  scene ; how,  when  they  were  off 
the  Azores,  the  storms  came  on  heavier  than  ever,  with  “ terrible 
seas,  breaking  short  and  pyramid-wise,”  till,  on  the  9th  Sep- 
tember, the  tiny  Squirrel  nearly  foundered  and  yet  recovered ; 
“and  the  General,  sitting  abaft  with  a book  in  his  hand,  cried 
out  to  us  in  the  Hind  so  oft  as  we  did  approach  within  hearing, 
‘ We  are  as  near  heaven  by  sea  as  by  land/  reiterating  the 
same  speech,  well  beseeming  a soldier  resolute  in  Jesus  Christ, 
as  I can  testify  he  was. 

“ The  same  Monday,  about  twelve  of  the  clock,  or  not  long 
after,  the  frigate  (the  Squirrel)  being  ahead  of  us  in  the  Golden 
Hind,  suddenly  her  lights  were  out  ; and  withal  our  watch 
cried,  the  General  was  cast  away,  which  was  true  ; for  in  that 
moment,  the  frigate  was  devoured  and  swallowed  up  of  the  sea.” 
And  so  ended  (I  have  used  Hayes’  own  words)  Amyas  Leigh’s 
story. 

“Oh,  my  brother!  my  brother!”  moaned  poor  Adrian; 
“ the  glory  of  his  house,  the  glory  of  Devon  !” 


chap.  XIII.]  CAME  HOME  AGAIN.  265 

“ All ! what  will  the  queen  say  ?”  asked  Mrs.  Hawkins 
through  her  tears. 

“ Tell  me,”  asked  Adrian,  “ had  he  the  jewel  on  when  he 

died  r 

“ The  queen’s  jewel  ? He  always  wore  that,  and  his  own 
posy  too,  ‘ Mutare  vel  timere  sperno.’  He  wore  it ; and  he 
lived  it.” 

“Ay,”  said  Adrian,  “the  same  to  the  last !” 

“Not  quite  that,”  said  Amyas.  “ He  was  a meeker  man 
latterly  than  he  used  to  be.  As  he  said  himself  once,  a better 
refiner  than  any  whom  he  had  on  board  had  followed  him  close 
all  the  seas  over,  and  purified  him  in  the  fire.  And  gold  seven 
times  tried  he  was,  when  God,  having  done  His  work  in  him, 
took  him  home  at  last.” 

And  so  the  talk  ended.  There  was  no  doubt  that  the 
expedition  had  been  an  utter  failure;  Adrian  was  a ruined 
man ; and  Amyas  had  lost  his  venture. 

Adrian  rose,  and  begged  leave  to  retire ; he  must  collect 
himself. 

“ Poor  gentleman  ! ” said  Mrs.  Hawkins;  “it  is  little  else 
he  has  left  to  collect.” 

“ Or  I either,”  said  Amyas.  “ I was  going  to  ask  you  to 
lend  me  one  of  your  son’s  shirts,  and  five  pounds  to  get  myself 
and  my  men  home.” 

“Five?  Fifty,  Mr.  Leigh ! God  forbid  that  John  Haw- 
kins’s wife  should  refuse  her  last  penny  to  a distressed  mariner, 
and  he  a gentleman  born.  But  you  must  eat  and  drink.” 

“ It’s  more  than  I have  done  for  many  a day  worth  speak- 
ing of.” 

And  Amyas  sat  down  in  his  rags  to  a good  supper,  while 
Mrs.  Hawkins  told  him  all  the  news  which  she  could  of  his 
mother,  whom  Adrian  Gilbert  had  seen  a few  months  before  in 
London ; and  then  went  on,  naturally  enough,  to  the  Bideford 
news. 

“ And  by  the  by,  Captain  Leigh,  I’ve  sad  news  for  you  from 
your  place ; and  I had  it  from  one  who  was  there  at  the  time. 
You  must  know  a Spanish  captain,  a prisoner ” 

“ What,  the*  one  I sent  home  from  SmerwickT’ 

“ You  sent  h Mercy  on  us ! Then,  perhaps,  you’ve 
heard ” 

“ How  can  I have  heard  1 What 

“ That  he’s  gone  off,  the  villain  V’ 

“Without  paying  his  ransom 1” 


266 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xiv. 

“ I can’t  say  that ; but  there’s  a poor  innocent  young  maid 
gone  off  with  him,  one  Salterne’s  daughter — the  Popish 
serpent !” 

“Rose  Salterne,  the  mayor’s  daughter,  the  Rose  of  Tor- 
ridge  !” 

“ That’s  her.  Bless  your  dear  soul,  what  ails  you  ?” 

Amyas  had  dropped  back  in  his  seat  as  if  he  had  been  shot  • 
but  he  recovered  himself  before  kind  Mrs.  Hawkins  could  rush 
to  the  cupboard  for  cordials. 

“You’ll  forgive  me,  madam;  but  Pm  weak  from  the  sea; 
and  your  good  ale  has  turned  me  a bit  dizzy,  I think.” 

“Ay,  yes,  ’tis  too,  too  heavy,  till  you’ve  been  on  shore 
a while.  Try  the  aqua  vitse ; my  Captain  John  has  it  right 
good ; and  a bit  too  fond  of  it  too,  poor  dear  soul,  between 
whiles,  Heaven  forgive  him  !” 

So  she  poured  some  strong  brandy  and  water  down  Amyas’s 
throat,  in  spite  of  his  refusals,  and  sent  him  to  bed,  but  not  to 
sleep ; and  after  a night  of  tossing,  he  started  for  Bideford, 
having  obtained  the  means  for  so  doing  from  Mrs.  Hawkins. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

HOW  SALVATION  YEO  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

“ Ignorance  and  evil,  even  in  full  flight,  deal  terrible  back -banded 
strokes  at  their  pursuers.” — Helps. 

Now  I am  sorry  to  say,  for  the  honour  of  my  country,  that  it 
was  by  no  means  a safe  thing  in  those  days  to  travel  from  Ply- 
mouth to  the  north  of  Devon  ; because,  to  get  to  your  journey’s 
end,  unless  you  were  minded  to  make  a circuit  of  many  miles, 
you’must  needs  pass  through  the  territory  of  a foreign  and  hostile 
potentate,  who  had  many  times  ravaged  the  dominions,  and 
defeated  the  forces  of  her  Majesty  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  was 
named  (behind  his  back  at  least)  the  King  of  the  Gubbings. 
“ So  now  I dare  call  them,”  says  Fuller,  “ secured  by  distance, 
which  one  of  more  valour  durst  not  do  to  their  face,  for  fear 
their  fury  fall  upon.  him.  Yet  hitherto  have  I met  with  none 

who  could  render  a reason  of  their  name.  We  call  the  shav- 
ings of  fish  (which  are  little  worth)  gubbings ; and  sure  it  is 
that  they  are  sensible  that  the  word  importeth  shame  and 
disgrace. 

“As  for  the  suggestion  of  my  worthy  and  learned  friend, 


267 


CHAP*  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

Mr.  Joseph  Maynard,  that  such  as  did  ‘inhabitare  montes 
gibberosos,’  were  called  Gubbings,  such  will  smile  at  the  in- 
genuity who  dissent  from  the  truth  of  the  etymology. 

“I  have  read  of  an  England  beyond  Wales,  but  the  Gub- 
bings land  is  a Scythia  within  England,  and  they  pure  heathens 
therein.  It  lieth  nigh  Brent.  For  in  the  edge  of  Dartmoor  it 
is  reported  that,  some  two  hundred  years  since,  two  bad  women, 
being  with  child,  fled  thither  to  hide  themselves;  to  whom 
certain  lewd  fellows  resorted,  and  this  was  their  first  original. 
They  are  a peculiar  of  their  own  making,  exempt  from  bishop, 
archdeacon,  and  all  authority,  either  ecclesiastical  or  civil. 
They  live  in  cots  (rather  holes  than  houses)  like  swine,  having 
all  in  common,  multiplied  without  marriage  into  many  hun- 
dreds. Their  language  is  the  dross  of  the  dregs  of  the  vulgar 
Devonian ; and  the  more  learned  a man  is,  the  worse  he  can 
understand  them.  During  our  civil  wars  no  soldiers  were 
quartered  upon  them,  for  fear  of  being  quartered  amongst  them. 
Their  wealth  consisteth  in  other  men’s  goods ; they  live  by 
stealing  the  sheep  on  the  moors ; and  vain  is  it  for  any  to 
search  their  houses,  being  a work  beneath  the  pains  of  any 
sheriff,  and  above  the  power  of  any  constable.  Such  is  their 
fleetness,  they  will  outrun  many  horses ; vivaciousness,  they 
outlive  most  men ; living  in  an  ignorance  of  luxury,  the  ex- 
tinguisher of  life.  They  hold  together  like  bees ; offend  one, 
and  all  will  revenge  his  quarrel. 

“ But  now  I am  informed  that  they  begin  to  be  civilised, 
and  tender  their  children  to  baptism,  and  return  to  be  men, 
yea,  Christians  again.  I hope  no  civil  people  amongst  us  will 
turn  barbarians,  now  these  barbarians  begin  to  be  civilised.55 1 

With  which  quip  against  the  Anabaptists  of  his  day,  Fuller 
ends  his  story ; and  I leave  him  to  set  forth  how  Amyas,  in 
fear  of  these  same  Scythians  and  heathens,  rode  out  of  Ply- 
mouth on  a right  good  horse,  in  his  full  suit  of  armour,  carrying 
lance  and  sword,  and  over  and  above  two  great  dags,  or  horse- 
pistols  ; and  behind  him  Salvation  Yeo,  and  five  or  six  north 
Devon  men  (who  had  served  with  him  in  Ireland,  and  were 
returning  on  furlough),  clad  in  head-pieces  and  quilted  jerkins, 
each  man  with  his  pike  and  sword,  and  Yeo  with  arquebuse 
and  match,  while  two  sumpter  ponies  carried  the  baggage  of 
this  formidable  troop. 

They  pushed  on  as  fast  as  they  could,  through  Tavistock, 
to  reach  before  nightfall  Lydford,  where  they  meant  to  sleep  ; 

1 Fuller,  p.  398. 


268 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[CH>P.  XIV. 

but  what  with  buying  the  horses,  and  other  delays,  they  had 
not  been  able  to  start  before  noon ; and  night  fell  just  as  they 
reached  the  frontiers  of  the  enemy’s  country.  A dreary  place 
enough  it  was,  by  the  wild  glare  of  sunset.  A high  table 
land  of  heath,  banked  on  the  right  by  the  crags  and  hills  of 
Dartmoor,  and  sloping  away  to  the  south  and  west  toward  the 
foot  of  the  great  cone  of  Brent-Tor,  which  towered  up  like  an 
extinct  volcano  (as  some  say  that  it  really  is),  crowned  with 
the  tiny  church,  the  votive  offering  of  some  Plymouth  merchant 
of  old  times,  who  vowed  in  sore  distress  to  build  a church  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin  on  the  first  point  of  English  land  which  he 
should  sea  Far  away,  down  those  waste  slopes,  they  could 
see  the  tiny  threads  of  blue  smoke  rising  from  the  dens  of  the 
Gubbings ; and  more  than  once  they  called  a halt,  to  examine 
whether  distant  furze-bushes  and  ponies  might  not  be  the 
patrols  of  an  advancing  army.  It  is  all  very  well  to  laugh  at 
it  now,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  but  it  was  no  laughing 
matter  then ; as  they  found  before  they  had  gone  two  miles 
farther. 

On  the  middle  of  the  down  stood  a wayside  inn  ; a desolate 
and  villanous- looking  lump  of  lichen -spotted  granite,  with 
windows  paper -patched,  and  rotting  thatch  kept  down  by 
stones  and  straw-banks  ; and  at  the  back  a rambling  court- 
ledge  of  barns  and  walls,  around  which  pigs  and  barefoot 
children  grunted  in  loving  communion  of  dirt.  At  the  door, 
rapt  apparently  in  the  contemplation  of  the  mountain  peaks 
which  glowed  rich  orange  in  the  last  lingering  sun-rays,  but 
really  watching  which  way  the  sheep  on  the  moor  were  taking, 
stood  the  innkeeper,  a brawny,  sodden-visaged,  blear-eyed  six 
feet  of  brutishness,  holding  up  his  hose  with  one  hand,  for 
want  of  points,  and  clawing  with  the  other  his  elf-locks,  on 
which  a fair  sprinkling  of  feathers  might  denote  : first,  that  he 
was  just  out  of  bed,  having  been  out  sheep-stealing  all  the 
night  before  ; and  secondly,  that  by  natural  genius  he  had 
anticipated  the  opinion  of  that  great  apostle  of  sluttishness, 
Fridericus  Dedekind,  and  his  faithful  disciple  Dekker,  which  last 
speaks  thus  to  all  gulls  and  grobians: — “ Consider  that  as  those 
trees  of  cobweb  lawn,  woven  by  spinners  in  the  fresh  May 
mornings,  do  dress  the  curled  heads  of  the  mountains,  and 
adorn  the  swelling  bosoms  of  the  valleys ; or  as  those  snowy 
fleeces,  which  the  naked  briar  steals  from  the  innocent  sheep  to 
make  himself  a warm  winter  livery,  are,  to  either  of  them  both, 
an  excellent  ornament ; so  make  thou  account,  that  to  have 


Brent  Tor . 


269 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

feathers  sticking  here  and  there  on  thy  head  will  embellish 
thee,  and  set  thy  crown  out  rarely.  None  dare  upbraid  thee, 
that  like  a beggar  thou  hast  lain  on  straw,  or  like  a travelling 
pedlar  upon  musty  flocks ; for  those  feathers  will  rise  up  as 
witnesses  to  choke  him  that  says  so,  and  to  prove  thy  bed  to 
have  been  of  the  softest  down.”  Even  so  did  those  feathers 
bear  witness  that  the  possessor  of  Rogues’  Harbour  Inn,  on 
Brent-Tor  Down,  whatever  else  he  lacked,  lacked  not  geese 
enough  to  keep  him  in  soft  lying 

Presently  he  spies  Amyas  and  his  party  coming  slowly  over 
the  hill,  pricks  up  his  ears,  and  counts  them ; sees  Amyas’s 
armour ; shakes  his  head  and  grunts ; and  then,  being  a man 
of  few  words,  utters  a sleepy  howl — 

“ Mirooi ! — Fushing  pooale!” 

A strapping  lass — whose  only  covering  (for  country  women 
at  work  in  those  days  dispensed  with  the  ornament  of  a gown) 
is  a green  bodice  and  red  petticoat,  neither  of  them  over  ample 
— brings  out  his  fishing-rod  and  basket,  and  the  man,  having 
tied  up  his  hose  with  some  ends  of  stringj  examines  the  footlink. 

“ Don  vlies’  gone  ! ” 

“Maybe,”  says  Mary;  “shouldn’t  hav’  left  mun  out  to 
coort.  May  be  old  hen’s  ate  mun  off.  I see  her  chocking 
about  a while  agone.” 

The  host  receives  this  intelligence  with  an  oath,  and  replies 
by  a violent  blow  at  Mary’s  head,  which  she,  accustomed  to 
such  slight  matters,  dodges,  and  then  returns  the  blow  with 
good  effect  on  the  shock  head. 

Whereon  mine  host,  equally  accustomed  to  such  slight 
matters,  quietly  shambles  off,  howling  as  he  departs — 

“ Tell  patrico  !” 

Mary  runs  in,  combs  her  hair,  slips  a pair  of  stockings  and 
her  best  gown  over  her  dirt,  and  awaits  the  coming  guests,  who 
make  a few  long  faces  at  the  “ mucksy  sort  of  a place,”  but 
prefer  to  spend  the  night  there  than  to  bivouac  close  to  the 
enemy’s  camp. 

So  the  old  hen  who  has  swallowed  the  dun  fly  is  killed, 
plucked,  and  roasted,  and  certain  “ black  Dartmoor  mutton  ” is 
put  on  the  gridiron,  and  being  compelled  to  confess  the  truth 
by  that  fiery  torment,  proclaims  itself  to  all  noses  as  red-deer 
venison.  In  the  meanwhile  Amyas  has  put  his  horse  and  the 
ponies  into  a shed,  to  which  he  can  find  neither  lock  nor  key, 
and  therefore  returns  grumbling,  not  without  fear  for  his  steed’s 
safety.  The  baggage  is  heaped  in  a corner  of  the  room,  and 


270  HOW  SALVATION  YEO  [chap.  xiv. 

Amyas  stretches  his  legs  before  a turf  fire ; while  Yeo,  who  has 
his  notions  about  the  place,  posts  himself  at  the  door,  and  the 
men  are  seized  with  a desire  to  superintend  the  cooking,  prob- 
ably to  be  attributed  to  the  fact  that  Mary  is  cook. 

Presently  Yeo  comes  in  again. 

“There’s  a gentleman  just  coming  up,  sir,  all  alone.” 

“ Ask  him  to  make  one  of  our  party,  then,  with  my  compli- 
ments.” Yeo  goes  out,  and  returns  in  five  minutes. 

“ Please,  sir,  he’s  gone  in  back  ways,  by  the  court.” 

“Well,  he  has  an  odd  taste,  if  he  makes  himself  at  home 
here.” 

Out  goes  Yeo  again,  and  comes  back  once  more  after  five 
minutes,  in  high  excitement. 

“ Come  out,  sir ; for  goodness’  sake  come  out.  I’ve  got 
him.  Safe  as  a rat  in  a trap,  I have  ! ” 

“ Who  1” 

“ A Jesuit,  sir.” 

“ Nonsense,  man !” 

“I  tell  you  truth,  sir.  I went  round  the  house,  for  I 
didn’t  like  the  looks  of  him  as  he  came  up.  I knew  he  was 
one  of  them  villains  the  minute  he  came  up,  by  the  way  he 
turned  in  his  toes,  and  put  down  his  feet  so  still  and  careful, 
like  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  offending  God  at  every  step.  So  I 
just  put  my  eye  between  the  wall  and  the  dern  of  the  gate,  and 
I saw  him  come  up  to  the  back  door  and  knock,  and  call 
‘Mary !’  quite  still,  like  any  Jesuit;  and  the  wench  flies  out  to 
him  ready  to  eat  him  ; and  ‘ Go  away,’  I heard  her  say,  ‘ there’s 
a dear  man and  then  something  about  a ‘ queer  cuffin  ’ (that’s 
a justice  in  these  canters’  thieves’  Latin) ; and  with  that  he 
takes  out  a somewhat — I’ll  swear  it  was  one  of  those  Popish 
Agnuses — and  gives  it  her ; and  she  kisses  it,  and  crosses  her- 
self, and  asks  him  if  that’s  the  right  way,  and  then  puts  it  into 
her  bosom,  and  he  says,  ‘ Bless  you,  my  daughter  ;’  and  then  I 
was  sure  of  the  dog  : and  he  slips  quite  still  to  the  stable,  and 
peeps  in,  and  when  he  sees  no  one  there,  in  he  goes,  and  out  I 
go,  and  shut  to  the  door,  and  back  a cart  that  was  there  up 
against  it,  and  call  out  one  of  the  men  to  watch  the  stable,  and 
the  girl’s  crying  like  mad.” 

“ What  a fool’s  trick,  man  ! How  do  you  know  that  he  is 
not  some  honest  gentleman,  after  alii” 

“ Fool  or  none,  sir ; honest  gentlemen  don’t  give  maidens 
Agnuses.  I’ve  put  him  in ; and  if  you  want  him  let  out  again, 
you  must  Gome  and  do  it  yourself,  for  my  conscience  is  against 


chap.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS.  271 

it,  sir.  If  the  Lord’s  enemies  are  delivered  into  my  hand,  I’m 
answerable,  sir,”  went  on  Yeo  as  Amyas  hurried  out  with  him. 
“ ’Tis  written,  ‘ If  any  let  one  of  them  go,  his  life  shall  be  for 
the  life  of  him.’” 

So  Amyas  ran  out,  pulled  back  the  cart  grumbling,  opened 
the  door,  and  began  a string  of  apologies  to — his  cousin  Eustace. 

Yes,  here  he  was,  with  such  a countenance,  half  foolish, 
half  venomous,  as  Reynard  wears  when  the  last  spadeful  of 
earth  is  thrown  back,  and  he  is  revealed  sitting  disconsolately 
on  his  tail  within  a yard  of  the  terriers’  noses. 

Neither  cousin  spoke  for  a minute  or  two.  At  last  Amyas — 

“ Well,  cousin  hide-and-seek,  how  long  have  you  added 
horse-stealing  to  your  other  trades'?” 

“ My  dear  Amyas,”  said  Eustace  very  meekly,  “ I may  surely 
go  into  an  inn  stable  without  intending  to  steal  what  is  in  it.” 

“Of  course,  old  fellow,”  said  Amyas,  mollified,  “I  was 
only  in  jest.  But  what  brings  you  here  % Not  prudence, 
certainly.” 

“I  am  bound  to  know  no  prudence  save  for  the  Lord’s 
work.” 

“That’s  giving  away  Agnus  Deis,  and  deceiving  poor 
heathen  wenches,  I suppose,”  said  Yeo. 

Eustace  answered  pretty  roundly — 

“ Heathens  1 Yes,  truly ; you  Protestants  leave  these  poor 
wretches  heathens,  and  then  insult  and  persecute  those  who, 
with  a devotion  unknown  to  you,  labour  at  the  danger  of  their 
lives  to  make  them  Christians.  Mr.  Amyas  Leigh,  you  can 
give  me  up  to  be  hanged  at  Exeter,  if  it  shall  so  please  you  to 
disgrace  your  own  family ; but  from  this  spot  neither  you,  no, 
nor  all  the  myrmidons  of  your  queen,  shall  drive  me,  while 
there  is  a soul  here  left  unsaved.” 

“Come  out  of  the  stable,  at  least,”  said  Amyas;  “you 
don’t  want  to  make  the  horses  Papists,  as  well  as  the  asses,  do 
you  'l  Come  out,  man,  and  go  to  the  devil  your  own  way.  I 
shan’t  inform  against  you ; and  Yeo  here  will  hold  his  tongue 
if  I tell  him,  I know.” 

“ It  goes  sorely  against  my  conscience,  sir , but  being  that 
he  is  your  cousin,  of  course ” 

“ Of  course  ; and  now  come  in  and  eat  with  me  ; supper’s 
just  ready,  and  bygones  shall  be  bygones,  if  you  will  have  them 
so.” 

How  much  forgiveness  Eustace  felt  in  his  heart,  I know 
not : but  he  knew,  of  course,  that  he  ought  to  forgive ; and  to 


272 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xiv. 


go  in  and  eat  with  Amyas  was  to  perform  an  act  of  forgiveness, 
and  for  the  best  of  motives,  too,  for  by  it  the  cause  of  the 
Church  might  be  furthered ; and  acts  and  motives  being  correct, 
what  more  was  needed  ? So  in  he  went ; and  yet  he  never 
forgot  that  scar  upon  his  cheek;  and  Amyas  could  not  look 
him  in  the  face  but  Eustace  must  fancy  that  his  eyes  were  on 
the  scar,  and  peep  up  from  under  his  lids  to  see  if  there  was 
any  smile  of  triumph  on  that  honest  visage.  They  talked  away 
over  the  venison,  guardedly  enough  at  first ; but  as  they  went 
on,  Amyas’s  straightforward  kindliness  warmed  poor  Eustace’s 
frozen  heart ; and  ere  they  were  aware,  they  found  themselves 
talking  over  old  haunts  and  old  passages  of  their  boyhood — 
uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins ; and  Eustace,  without  any  sinister 
intention,  asked  Amyas  why  he  was  going  to  Bideford,  while 
Frank  and  his  mother  were  in  London. 

“ To  tell  you  the  truth,  I cannot  rest  till  I have  heard  the 
whole  story  about  poor  Rose  Salterne.” 

“What  about  her?”  cried  Eustace. 

“ Do  you  not  know  ?” 

“ How  should  I know  anything  here  ? For  heaven’s  sake, 
what  has  happened  ?” 

Amyas  told  him,  wondering  at  his  eagerness,  for  he  had 
never  had  the  least  suspicion  of  Eustace’s  love. 

Eustace  shrieked  aloud. 

“ Fool,  fool  that  I have  been  ! Caught  in  my  own  trap  ! 
Villain,  villain  that  he  is ! After  all  he  promised  me  at  Lundy ! ” 

And  springing  up,  Eustace  stamped  up  and  down  the  room, 
gnashing  his  teeth,  tossing  his  head  from  side  to  side,  and 
clutching  with  outstretched  hands  at  the  empty  air,  with  the 
horrible  gesture  (Heaven  grant  that  no  reader  has  ever  witnessed 
it !)  of  that  despair  which  still  seeks  blindly  for  the  object 
which  it  knows  is  lost  for  ever. 

Amyas  sat  thunderstruck.  His  first  impulse  was  to  ask, 
“Lundy?  What  knew  you  of  him?  What  had  he  or  you  to 
do  at  Lundy  ?”  but  pity  conquered  curiosity. 

“ Oh,  Eustace  ! And  you  then  loved  her  too  ?” 

“ Don’t  speak  to  me ! Loved  her  ? Yes,  sir,  and  had  as 
good  a right  to  love  her  as  any  one  of  your  precious  brother- 
hood of  the  Rose.  Don’t  speak  to  me,  I say,  or  I shall  do  you 
a mischief !” 

So  Eustace  knew  of  the  brotherhood  too!  Amyas  longed 
to  ask  him  how;  but  what  use  in  that?  If  he  knew  it,  he 
knew  it ; and  what  harm  ? So  he  only  answered — 


273 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

“ My  good  cousin,  why  be  wroth  with  me  ? If  you  really 
love  her,  now  is  the  time  to  take  counsel  with  me  how  best  we 
shall ” 

Eustace  did  not  let  him  finish  his  sentence.  Conscious  that 
he  had  betrayed  himself  upon  more  points  than  one,  he  stopped 
short  in  his  walk,  suddenly  collected  himself  by  one  great  effort, 
and  eyed  Amyas  from  underneath  his  brows  with  the  old  down 
look. 

“ How  best  we  shall  do  what,  my  valiant  cousin  ?”  said  he 
in  a meaning  and  half-scornful  voice.  “ What  does  your  most 
chivalrous  Brotherhood  of  the  Rose  purpose  in  such  a case  ?” 
Amyas,  a little  nettled,  stood  on  his  guard  in  return,  and 
answered  bluntly — 

“ What  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Rose  will  do,  I can’t  yet 
say.  What  it  ought  to  do,  I have  a pretty  sure  guess.” 

“ So  have  I.  To  hunt  her  down  as  you  would  an  outlaw, 
because  forsooth  she  has  dared  to  love  a Catholic ; to  murder 
her  lover  in  her  arms,  and  drag  her  home  again  stained  with 
his  blood,  to  be  forced  by  threats  and  persecution  to  renounce 
that  Church  into  whose  maternal  bosom  she  has  doubtless  long 
since  found  rest  and  holiness  ! ” 

“ If  she  has  found  holiness,  it  matters  little  to  me  where 
she  has  found  it,  Master  Eustace : but  that  is  the  very  point 
that  I should  be  glad  to  know  for  certain.” 

“And  you  will  go  and  discover  for  yourself1?” 

“ Have  you  no  wish  to  discover  it  also  ?” 

“And  if  I had,  what  would  that  be  to  you?” 

“ Only,”  said  Amyas,  trying  hard  to  keep  his  temper,  “that, 
if  we  had  the  same  purpose,  we  might  sail  in  the  same  ship.” 
“You  intend  to  sail,  then ?” 

“ I mean  simply,  that  we  might  work  together.” 

“Our  paths  lie  on  very  different  roads,  sir  !” 

“I  am  afraid  you  never  spoke  a truer  word,  sir.  In  the 
meanwhile,  ere  we  part,  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  what  you 
meant  by  saying  that  you  had  met  this  Spaniard  at  Lundy?” 

“ I shall  refuse  to  answer  that.” 

“You  will  please  to  recollect,  Eustace,  that  however  good 
friends  we  have  been  for  the  last  half-hour,  you  are  in  my  power. 
I have  a right  to  know  the  bottom  of  this  matter ; and,  by 
Heaven,  I will  know  it.” 

“ In  your  power  ? See  that  you  are  not  in  mine ! Remem- 
ber, sir,  that  you  are  within  a — within  a few  miles,  at  least,  of 
those  who  will  obey  me,  their  Catholic  benefactor : but  who  owe 

T 


274 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xiv. 

no  allegiance  to  those  Protestant  authorities  who  have  left  them 
to  the  lot  of  the  beasts  which  perish.” 

Amyas  was  very  angry.  He  wanted  but  little  more  to  make 
him  catch  Eustace  by  the  shoulders,  shake  the  life  out  of  him, 
and  deliver  him  into  the  tender  guardianship  of  Yeo;  but  he 
knew  that  to  take  him  at  all  was  to  bring  certain  death  on  him,- 
and  disgrace  on  the  family  ; and  remembering  Frank’s  conduct 
on  that  memorable  night  at  Clovelly,  he  kept  himself  down. 

“ Take  me,”  said  Eustace,  “ if  you  will,  sir.  You,  who 
complain  of  us  that  we  keep  no  faith  with  heretics,  will  perhaps 
recollect  that  you  asked  me  into  this  room  as  your  guest : and 
that  in  your  good  faith  I trusted  when  I entered  it.” 

The  argument  was  a worthless  one  in  law ; for  Eustace  had 
been  a prisoner  before  he  was  a guest,  and  Amyas  was  guilty  ol 
something  very  like  misprision  of  treason  in  not  handing  him 
over  to  the  nearest  justice.  However,  all  he  did  was,  to  go  to 
the  door,  open  it,  and  bowing  to  his  cousin,  bid  him  walk  out 
and  go  to  the  devil,  since  he  seemed  to  have  set  his  mind  on 
ending  his  days  in  the  company  of  that  personage. 

Whereon  Eustace  vanished. 

“ Pooh  !”  said  Amyas  to  himself:  “ I can  find  out  enough, 
and  too  much,  I fear,  without  the  help  of  such  crooked  vermin. 
I must  see  Cary ; I must  see  Salterne ; and  I suppose,  if  I am 
ready  to  do  my  duty,  I shall  learn  somehow  what  it  is.  Now 
to  sleep ; to-morrow  up  and  away  to  what  God  sends.” 

“ Come  in  hither,  men,”  shouted  he  down  the  passage,  “and 
sleep  here.  Haven’t  you  had  enough  of  this  villanous  sour 
cider  V’ 

The  men  came  in  yawning,  and  settled  themselves  to  sleep 
on  the  floor. 

“Where’s  Yeo?” 

No  one  knew ; he  had  gone  out  to  say  his  prayers,  and  had 
not  returned. 

“Never  mind,”  said  Amyas,  who  suspected  some  plot  on  the 
old  man’s  part.  “ He’ll  take  care  of  himself,  I’ll  warrant  him.” 

“ No  fear  of  that,  sir;”  and  the  four  tars  were  soon  snoring 
in  concert  round  the  fire,  while  Amyas  laid  himself  on  the  settle, 
with  his  saddle  for  a pillow. 

It  was  about  midnight,  wThen  Amyas  leaped  to  his  feet,  or 
rather  fell  upon  his  back,  upsetting  saddle,  settle,  and  finally, 
table,  under  the  notion  that  ten  thousand  flying  dragons  were 
bursting  in  the  window  close  to  his  ear,  with  howls  most  fierce 


275 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

and  fell.  The  flying  dragons  past,  however,  being  only  a flock 
of  terror-stricken  geese,  which  flew  flapping  and  screaming  round 
the  corner  of  the  house  : but  the  noise  which  had  startled  them 
did  not  pass ; and  another  minute  made  it  evident  that  a sharp 
fight  was  going  on  in  the  courtyard,  and  that  Yeo  was  hallooing 
lustily  for  help, 

Out  turned  the  men,  sword  in  hand,  burst  the  back  door 
open,  stumbling  over  pails  and  pitchers,  and  into  the  courtyard, 
where  Yeo,  his  back  against  the  stable -door,  was  holding  his 
own  manfully  with  sword  and  buckler  against  a dozen  men. 

Dire  and  manifold  was  the  screaming ; geese  screamed, 
chickens  screamed,  pigs  screamed,  donkeys  screamed,  Mary 
screamed  from  an  upper  window;  and  to  complete  the  chorus,  a 
flock  of  plovers,  attracted  by  the  noise,  wheeled  round  and  round 
overhead,  and  added  their  screams  also  to  that  Dutch  concert. 

The  screaming  went  on,  but  the  fight  ceased  ; for,  as  Amyas 
rushed  into  the  yard,  the  whole  party  of  ruffians  took  to  their 
heels,  and  vanished  over  a low  hedge  at  the  other  end  of  the  yard. 

“ Are  you  hurt,  Yeo  fl” 

“Not  a scratch,  thank  Heaven  ! But  I’ve  got  two  of  them, 
the  ringleaders,  I have.  One  of  them’s  against  the  wall.  Your 
horse  did  for  t’other.” 

The  wounded  man  was  lifted  up  ; a huge  ruffian,  nearly  as 
big  as  Amyas  himself.  Yeo’s  sword  had  passed  through  his 
body.  He  groaned  and  choked  for  breath. 

“Carry  him  indoors.  Where  is  the  other1?” 

“ Dead  as  a herring,  in  the  straw.  Have  a care,  men,  have 
a care  how  you  go  in  ! the  horses  are  near  mad  !” 

However,  the  man  was  brought  out  after  a while.  With 
him  all  was  over.  They  could  feel  neither  pulse  nor  breath. 

“ Carry  him  in  too,  poor  wretch.  And  now,  Yeo,  what  is 
the  meaning  of  all  tins'?” 

Yeo’s  story  was  soon  told.  He  could  not  get  out  of  his 
Puritan  head  the  notion  (quite  unfounded,  of  course)  that 
Eustace  had  meant  to  steal  the  horses.  He  had  seen  the  inn- 
keeper sneak  off  at  their  approach ; and  expecting  some  night- 
attack,  he  had  taken  up  his  lodging  for  the  night  in  the  stable. 

As  he  expected,  an  attempt  was  made.  The  door  was 
opened  (how,  he  could  not  guess,  for  he  had  fastened  it  inside), 
and  two  fellows  came  in,  and  began  to  loose  the  beasts.  Yeo’s 
account  was,  that  he  seized  the  big  fellow,  who  drew  a knife  on 
him,  and  broke  loose  ; the  horses,  terrified  at  the  scuffle,  kicked 
right  and  left ; one  man  fell,  and  the  other  ran  out,  calling  for 


276 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[CHAP.  XIV. 

help,  with  Yeo  at  his  heels  ; “ Whereon,”  said  Yeo,  “ seeing  a 
dozen  more  on  me  with  clubs  and  bows,  I thought  best  to 
shorten  the  number  while  I could,  ran  the  rascal  through,  and 
stood  on  my  ward ; and  only  just  in  time  I was,  what’s  more ; 
there’s  two  arrows  in  the  house  wall,  and  two  or  three  more  in 
my  buckler,  which  I caught  up  as  I went  out,  for  I had  hung 
it  close  by  the  door,  you  see,  sir,  to  be  all  ready  in  case,”  said 
the  cunning  old  Philistine  - slayer,  as  they  went  in  after  the 
wounded  man. 

But  hardly  had  they  stumbled  through  the  low  doorway 
into  the  back-kitchen  when  a fresh  hubbub  arose  inside — more 
shouts  for  help.  Amyas  ran  forward  breaking  his  head  against 
the  doorway,  and  beheld,  as  soon  as  he  could  see  for  the  flashes 
in  his  eyes,  an  old  acquaintance,  held  on  each  side  by  a sturdy 
sailor. 

With  one  arm  in  the  sleeve  of  his  doublet,  and  the  other  in 
a not  over  spotless  shirt ; holding  up  his  hose  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  a candle,  whereby  he  had  lighted  himself  to 
his  own  confusion ; foaming  with  rage,  stood  Mr.  Evan  Morgans, 
alias  Father  Parsons,  looking,  between  his  confused  habiliments 
and  his  fiery  visage  (as  Yeo  told  him  to  his  face),  “ the  very 
moral  of  a half-plucked  turkey-cock.”  And  behind  him,  dressed, 
stood  Eustace  Leigh. 

“ We  found  the  maid  letting  these  here  two  out  by  the 
front  door,”  said  one  of  the  captors. 

“Well,  Mr.  Parsons,”  said  Amyas;  “and  what  are  you 
about  here  1 A pretty  nest  of  thieves  and  J esuits  we  seem  to 
have  routed  out  this  evening.” 

“ About  my  calling,  sir,”  said  Parsons  stoutly.  “ By 
your  leave,  I shall  prepare  this  my  wounded  lamb  for  that 
account  to  which  your  man’s  cruelty  has  untimely  sent  him.” 

The  wounded  man,  who  lay  upon  the  floor,  heard  Parsons’ 
voice,  and  moaned  for  the  “ Patrico.” 

“ You  see,  sir,”  said  he  pompously,  “ the  sheep  know  their 
shepherd’s  voice.” 

“ The  wolves  you  mean,  you  hypocritical  scoundrel  !*’  said 
Amyas,  who  could  not  contain  his  disgust.  “ Let  the  fellow 
truss  up  his  points,  lads,  and  do  his  work.  After  all,  the  man 
is  dying.” 

“ The  requisite  matters,  sir,  are  not  at  hand,”  said  Parsons, 
unabashed. 

“ Eustace,  go  and  fetch  his  matters  for  him  ; you  seem  to 
be  in  all  his  plots.” 


277 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

Eustace  went  silently  and  sullenly. 

“What’s  that  fresh  noise  at  the  back,  now1?” 

“ The  maid,  sir,  a wailing  over  her  uncle ; the  fellow  that 
we  saw  sneak  away  when  we  came  up.  It  was  him  the  horse 
killed.” 

It  was  true.  The  wretched  host  had  slipped  off  on  their 
approach,  simply  to  call  the  neighbouring  outlaws  to  the  spoil ; 
and  he  had  been  filled  with  the  fruit  of  his  own  devices. 

“ His  blood  be  on  his  own  head,”  said  Amyas. 

“ I question,  sir,”  said  Yeo  in  a low  voice,  “ whether 
some  of  it  will  not  be  on  the  heads  of  those  proud  prelates 
who  go  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  instead  of  going  forth 
to  convert  such  as  he,  and  then  wonder  how  these  Jesuits  get 
hold  of  them.  If  they  give  place  to  the  devil  in  their  sheep- 
folds,  sure  he’ll  come  in  and  lodge  there.  Look,  sir,  there’s  a 
sight  in  a gospel  land  !” 

And,  indeed,  the  sight  was  curious  enough.  For  Parsons 
was  kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  dying  man,  listening  earnestly 
to  the  confession  which  the  man  sobbed  out  in  his  gibberish, 
between  the  spasms  of  his  wounded  chest.  Now  and  then 
Parsons  shook  his  head  ; and  when  Eustace  returned  with  the 
holy  wafer,  and  the  oil  for  extreme  unction,  he  asked  him,  in  a 
low  voice,  “ Ballard,  interpret  for  me.” 

And  Eustace  knelt  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  sufferer, 
and  interpreted  his  thieves’  dialect  into  Latin  ; and  the  dying 
man  held  a hand  of  each,  and  turned  first  to  one  and  then  to 
the  other  stupid  eyes, — not  without  affection,  though,  and 
gratitude. 

“ I can’t  stand  this  mummery  any  longer,”  said  Yeo. 
“ Here’s  a soul  perishing  before  my  eyes,  and  it’s  on  my  con- 
science to  speak  a word  in  season.” 

“Silence!”  whispered  Amyas,  holding  him  back  by  the 
arm  ; “ he  knows  them,  and  he  don’t  know  you  ; they  are  the 
first  who  ever  spoke  to  him  as  if  he  had  a soul  to  be  saved, 
and  first  come,  first  served ; you  can  do  no  good.  See,  the 
man’s  face  is  brightening  already.” 

“ But,  sir,  ’tis  a false  peace.” 

“ At  all  events  he  is  confessing  his  sins,  Yeo  ; and  if  that’s 
not  good  for  him,  and  you,  and  me,  what  is  ? ” 

“ Yea,  Amen  ! sir  ; but  this  is  not  to  the  right  person.” 

“ How  do  you  know  his  words  will  not  go  to  the  right 
person  after  all,  though  he  may  not  send  them  there1?  By 
Heaven  ! the  man  is  dead  !” 


278 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xrv. 

It  was  so.  The  dark  catalogue  of  brutal  deeds  had  been 
gasped  out ; but  ere  the  words  of  absolution  could  follow,  the 
head  had  fallen  back,  and  all  was  over. 

“ Confession  in  extremis  is  sufficient,”  said  Parsons  to 
Eustace  (“  Ballard,”  as  Parsons  called  him,  to  Amyas’s  sur- 
prise), as  he  rose.  “As  for  the  rest,  the  intention  will  be 
accepted  instead  of  the  act.” 

“ The  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul !”  said  Eustace. 

“ His  soul  is  lost  before  our  very  eyes,”  said  Yeo. 

“ Mind  your  own  business,”  said  Amyas. 

“ Humph  ; but  I’ll  tell  you,  sir,  what  our  business  is,  if 
you’ll  step  aside,  with  me.  I find  that  poor  fellow  that  lies 
dead  is  none  other  than  the  leader  of  the  Gubbings  ; the  king 
of  them,  as  they  dare  to  call  him.” 

“ Well,  what  of  that 

“Mark  my  words,  sir,  if  we  have  not  a hundred  stout 
rogues  upon  us  before  two  hours  are  out ; forgive  us  they  never 
will ; and  if  we  get  off  with  our  lives,  which  I don’t  much 
expect,  we  shall  leave  our  horses  behind ; for  we  can  hold  the 
house,  sir.  well  enough  till  morning  : but  the  courtyard  we 
can’t,  that’s  certain  !” 

“ We  had  better  march  at  once,  then.” 

“ Think,  sir  ; if  they  catch  us  up — as  they  are  sure  to  do, 
knowing  the  country  better  than  we — how  will  our  shot  stand 
their  arrows  V’ 

“True,  old  wisdom;  we  must  keep  the  road;  and  we 
must  keep  together ; and  so  be  a mark  for  them,  while  they 
will  be  behind  every  rock  and  bank  ; and  two  or  three  flights 
of  arrows  will  do  our  business  for  us.  Humph  ! stay,  I have  a 
plan.”  And  stepping  forward  he  spoke — 

“ Eustace,  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  go  back  to  your  lambs; 
and  tell  them,  that  if  they  meddle  with  us  cruel  wolves  again 
to-night,  we  are  ready  and  willing  to  fight  to  the  death,  and 
have  plenty  of  shot  and  powder  at  their  service.  Father 
Parsons,  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  accompany  us  ; it  is  but 
fitting  that  the  shepherd  should  be  hostage  for  his  sheep.” 

“If  you  carry  me  off  this  spot,  sir,  you  carry  my  corpse 
only,”  said  Parsons.  “ I may  as  well  die  here  as  be  hanged 
elsewhere,  like  my  martyred  brother  Campian.” 

“ If  you  take  him,  you  must  take  me  too,”  said  Eustace. 

“ What  if  we  won’t  ?” 

“ How  will  you  gain  by  that  1 you  can  only  leave  me  here. 
You  cannot  make  me  go  to  the  Gubbings,  if  I do  not  choose.” 


279 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

Amyas  uttered  sotto  voce  an  anathema  on  Jesuits,  Gub- 
bings,  and  things  in  general.  He  was  in  a great  hurry  to  get 
to  Bideford,  and  he  feared  that  this  business  would  delay  him, 
as  it  was,  a day  or  two.  He  wanted  to  hang  Parsons  : he  did 
not  want  to  hang  Eustace ; and  Eustace,  he  knew,  was  well 
aware  of  that  latter  fact,  and  played  his  game  accordingly  : but 
time  ran  on,  and  he  had  to  answer  sulkily  enough — 

“Well  then;  if  you,  Eustace,  will  go  and  give  my  message 
to  your  converts,  I will  promise  to  set  Mr.  Parsons  free  again 
before  we  come  to  Lydford  town  ; and  I advise  you,  if  you  have 
any  regard  for  his  life,  to  see  that  your  eloquence  be  persuasive 
enough ; for  as  sure  as  I am  an  Englishman,  and  he  none,  if 
the  Gubbings  attack  us,  the  first  bullet  that  I shall  fire  at  them 
will  have  gone  through  his  scoundrelly  brains.” 

Parsons  still  kicked. 

“ Very  well,  then,  my  merry  men  all.  Tie  this  gentleman’s 
nands  behind  his  back,  get  the  horses  out,  and  we’ll  right  away 
up  into  Dartmoor,  find  a good  high  tor,  stand  our  ground  there 
till  morning,  and  then  carry  him  into  Okehampton  to  the  near- 
est justice.  If  he  chooses  to  delay  me  in  my  journey,  it  is  fair 
that  I should  make  him  pay  for  it.” 

Whereon  Parsons  gave  in,  and  being  fast  tied  by  his  arm 
to  Amyas’s  saddle,  trudged  alongside  his  horse  for  several  weary 
miles,  while  Yeo  walked  by  his  side,  like  a friar  by  a condemned 
criminal ; and  in  order  to  keep  up  his  spirits,  told  him  the 
woeful  end  of  Nicholas  Saunders  the  Legate,  and  how  he  was 
found  starved  to  death  in  a bog. 

“ And  if  you  wish,  sir,  to  follow  in  his  blessed  steps,  which 
I heartily  hope  you  will  do,  you  have  only  to  go  over  that  big 
cow-backed  iiill  there  on  your  right  hand,  and  down  again  the 
other  side  to  Crawmere  pool,  and  there  you’ll  find  as  pretty  a 
bog  to  die  in  as  ever  Jesuit  needed  : and  your  ghost  may  sit 
there  on  a grass  tummock,  and  tell  your  beads  without  any  one 
asking  for  you  till  the  day  of  judgment;  and  much  good  may 
it  do  you  ! ’ 

At  which  imagination  Yeo  was  actually  heard,  for  the  first 
and  last  time  in  this  history,  to  laugh  most  heartily. 

His  ho-ho’s  had  scarcely  died  away  when  they  saw  shining 
under  the  moon  the  old  Tower  of  Lydford  Castle. 

“ Cast  the  fellow  off  now,”  said  Amyas. 

“Ay,  ay,  sir  !”  and  Yeo  and  Simon  Evans  stopped  behind, 
and  did  not  come  up  for  ten  minutes  after. 

“ What  have  you  been  about  so  long  ?” 


280 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xiv. 

“ Why,  sir,”  said  Evans,  “ you  see  the  man  had  a very  fail 
pair  of  hose  on,  and  a bran-new  kersey  doublet,  very  warm-lined ; 
and  so,  thinking  it  a pity  good  clothes  should  be  wasted  on 
such  noxious  trade,  we’ve  just  brought  them  along  with  us.” 

“ Spoiling  the  Egyptians,”  said  Yeo  as  comment. 

“ And  what  have  you  done  with  the  man  ?” 

“ Hove  him  over  the  bank,  sir ; he  pitched  into  a big  furze- 
bush,  and  for  aught  I know,  there  he’ll  bide.” 

“ You  rascal,  have  you  killed  him  ?” 

“ Never  fear,  sir,”  said  Yeo  in  his  cool  fashion.  “ A Jesuit 
has  as  many  lives  as  a cat,  and,  I believe,  rides  broomsticks 
post,  like  a witch.  He  would  be  at  Lydford  now  before  us,  if 
his  master  Satan  had  any  business  for  him  there.” 

Leaving  on  their  left  Lydford  and  its  ill-omened  castle 
(which,  a century  after,  was  one  of  the  principal  scenes  of  Judge 
Jeffreys’s  cruelty),  Amyas  and  his  party  trudged  on  through  the 
mire  toward  Okehampton  till  sunrise ; and  ere  the  vapours  had 
lifted  from  the  mountain  tops,  they  were  descending  the  long 
slopes  from  Sourton  down,  while  Yestor  and  Amicombe  slept 
steep  and  black  beneath  their  misty  pall ; and  roaring  far  below 
unseen, 

“ Ockment  leapt  from  crag  and  cloud 
Down  her  cataracts,  laughing  loud.” 

The  voice  of  the  stream  recalled  these  words  to  Amyas’s 
mind.  The  nymph  of  Torridge  had  spoken  them  upon  the  day 
of  his  triumph.  He  recollected,  too,  his  vexation  on  that  day 
at  not  seeing  Rose  Salterne.  Why,  he  had  never  seen  her  since. 
Never  seen  her  now  for  six  years  and  more  ! Of  her  ripened 
beauty  he  knew  only  by  hearsay;  she  was  still  to  him  the  lovely 
fifteen  years’  girl,  for  whose  sake  he  had  smitten  the  Barnstaple 
draper  over  the  quay.  What  a chain  of  petty  accidents  had 
kept  them  from  meeting,  though  so  often  within  a mile  of  each 
other  ! “ And  what  a lucky  one  !”  said  practical  old  Amyas  to 

himself.  “If  I had  seen  her  as  she  is  now,  I might  have  loved 
her  as  Prank  does — poor  Frank  ! what  will  he  say  ? What 
does  he  say,  for  he  must  know  it  already?  And  what  ought 
I to  say — to  do  rather,  for  talking  is  no  use  on  this  side  the 
grave,  nor  on  the  other  either,  I expect !”  And  then  he  asked 
himself  whether  his  old  oath  meant  nothing  or  something; 
whether  it  was  a mere  tavern  frolic,  or  a sacred  duty.  And  he 
held,  the  more  that  he  looked  at  it,  that  it  meant  the  latter. 

But  what  could  he  do?  He  had  nothing  on  earth  but  his 
sword,  so  he  could  not  travel  to  find  her.  After  all,  she  might 


Okehampton. 


281 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

not  be  gone  far.  Perhaps  not  gone  at  all.  It  might  be  a mis- 
take, an  exaggerated  scandal.  He  would  hope  so.  And  yet  it 
was  evident  that  there  had  been  some  passages  between  her  and 
Don  Guzman.  Eustace’s  mysterious  words  about  the  promise 
at  Lundy  proved  that.  The  villain  ! He  had  felt  all  along 
that  he  was  a villain  : but  just  the  one  to  win  a woman’s  heart, 
too.  Frank  had  been  away — all  the  Brotherhood  away.  What 
a fool  he  had  been,  to  turn  the  wolf  loose  into  the  sheepfold ! 
And  yet  who  would  have  dreamed  of  it  ? . . . 

“At  all  events,”  said  Amyas,  trying  to  comfort  himself,  “I 
need  not  complain.  I have  lost  nothing.  I stood  no  more 
chance  of  her  against  Frank  than  I should  have  stood  against 
the  Don.  So  there  is  no  use  for  me  to  cry  about  the  matter.” 
And  he  tried  to  hum  a tune  concerning  the  general  frailty  of 
women,  but  nevertheless,  like  Sir  Hugh,  felt  that  “ he  had  a 
great  disposition  to  cry.” 

He  never  had  expected  to  win  her,  and  yet  it  seemed  bitter 
to  know  that  she  was  lost  to  him  for  ever.  It  was  not  so  easy 
for  a heart  of  his  make  to  toss  away  the  image  of  a first  love ; 
and  all  the  less  easy  because  that  image  was  stained  and  ruined. 

“ Curses  on  the  man  who  had  done  that  deed  ! I will  yet 
have  his  heart’s  blood  somehow,  if  I go  round  the  world  again 
to  find  him.  If  there’s  no  law  for  it  on  earth,  there’s  law  in 
heaven,  or  I’m  much  mistaken.” 

With  which  determination  he  rode  into  the  ugly,  dirty,  and 
stupid  town  of  Okehampton,  with  which  fallen  man  (by  some 
strange  perversity)  has  chosen  to  defile  one  of  the  loveliest  sites 
in  the  pleasant  land  of  Devon.  And  heartily  did  Amyas 
abuse  the  old  town  that  day ; for  he  was  detained  there,  as  he 
expected,  full  three  hours,  while  the  Justice  Shallow  of  the 
place  was  sent  for  from  his  farm  (whither  he  had  gone  at  sun- 
rise, after  the  early-rising  fashion  of  those  days)  to  take  Yeo’s 
deposition  concerning  last  night’s  affray.  Moreover,  when 
Shallow  came,  he  refused  to  take  the  depositions,  because  they 
ought  to  have  been  made  before  a brother  Shallow  at  Lydford ; 
and  in  the  wrangling  which  ensued,  was  very  near  finding  out 
what  Amyas  (fearing  fresh  loss  of  time  and  worse  evils  beside) 
had  commanded  to  be  concealed,  namely,  the  presence  of  Jesuits 
in  that  Moorland  Utopia.  Then,  in  broadest  Devon — 

“ And  do  you  call  this  Christian  conduct,  sir,  to  set  a quiet 
man  like  me  upon  they  Gubbings,  as  if  I was  going  to  risk  my 
precious  life — no,  nor  ever  a constable  to  Okehampton  neither  ? 
Let  Lydfor’  men  mind  Lydfor’  roogs,  and  by  Lydfor’  law  if 


282 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[CHAP.  XIV, 

they  will,  hang  first  and  try  after ; but  as  for  me,  I’ve  rade  my 
Bible,  and  ‘He  that  meddleth  with  strife  is  like  him  that 
taketh  a dog  by  the  ears.’  So  if  you  choose  to  sit  down  and 
ate  your  breakfast  with  me,  well  and  good  : but  depositions  I’ll 
have  none.  If  your  man  is  enquired  for,  you’ll  be  answerable 
for  his  appearing,  in  course  ; but  I expect  mortally  ” (with  a 
wink),  “you  waint  hear  much  more  of  the  matter  from  any 
hand.  ‘ Leave  well  alone  is  a good  rule,  but  leave  ill  alone  is 
a better.’ — So  we  says  round  about  here;  and  so  you’ll  say, 
captain,  when  you  be  so  old  as  I.” 

So  Amyas  sat  down  and  ate  his  breakfast,  and  went  on 
afterwards  a long  and  weary  day’s  journey,  till  he  saw  at  last 
beneath  him  the  broad  shining  river,  and  the  long  bridge,  and 
the  white  houses  piled  up  the  hill -side ; and  beyond,  over 
Raleigh  downs,  the  dear  old  tower  of  North  am  Church. 

Alas  ! Northam  was  altogether  a desert  to  him  then;  and 
Bideford,  as  it  turned  out,  hardly  less  so.  For  when  he  rode 
up  to  Sir  Richard’s  door,  he  found  that  the  good  Knight  was 
still  in  Ireland,  and  Lady  Grenvile  at  Stow.  Whereupon  he 
rode  back  again  down  the  High  Street  to  that  same  bow-win- 
dowed Ship  Tavern  where  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Rose  made 
their  vow,  and  settled  himself  in  the  very  room  where  they  had 
supped. 

“Ah!  Mr.  Leigh  — Captain  Leigh  now,  I beg  pardon,” 
quoth  mine  host.  “ Bideford  is  an  empty  place  now -a- days, 
and  nothing  stirring,  sir.  What  with  Sir  Richard  to  Ireland, 
and  Sir  John  to  London,  and  all  the  young  gentlemen  to  the 
wars,  there’s  no  one  to  buy  good  liquor,  and  no  one  to  court 
the  young  ladies,  neither.  Sack,  sir  ? I hope  so.  I haven’t 
brewed  a gallon  of  it  this*  fortnight,  if  you’ll  believe  me ; ale, 
sir,  and  aqua  vitae,  and  such  low-bred  trade,  is  all  I draw  now- 
a-days.  Try  a pint  of  sherry,  sir,  now,  to  give  you  an  appetite. 
You  mind  my  sherry  of  old  ? Jane  ! Sherry  and  sugar,  quick, 
while  I pull  off  the  captain’s  boots.” 

Amyas  sat  weary  and  sad,  while  the  innkeeper  chattered  on. 
“ Ah,  sir ! two  or  three  like  you  would  set  the  young  ladies 
all  alive  again.  By-the-by,  there’s  been  strange  doings  among 
them  since  you  were  here  last.  You  mind  Mistress  Salterne  !” 
“ For  God’s  sake,  don’t  let  us  have  that  story,  man  ! I 
heard  enough  of  it  at  Plymouth  ! ” said  Amyas,  in  so  disturbed 
a tone  that  mine  host  looked  up,  and  said  to  himself — 

“ Ah,  poor  young  gentleman,  he’s  one  of  the  hard  hit  ones.” 
“ How  is  the  old  man  ?”  asked  Amyas,  after  a pause. 


283 


CHAP.  XIY.  ] SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

“Bears  it  well  enough,  sir j but  a changed  man.  Never 
speaks  to  a soul,  if  he  can  help  it.  Some  folk  say  he’s  not 
right  in  his  head;  or  turned  miser,  or  somewhat,  and  takes 
nought  but  bread  and  water,  and  sits  up  all  night  in  the  room 
as  was  hers,  turning  over  her  garments.  Heaven  knows  what’s 
on  his  mind — they  do  say  he  was  over  hard  on  her,  and  that 
drove  her  to  it.  All  I know  is,  he  has  never  been  in  here  for 
a drop  of  liquor  (and  he  came  as  regular  every  evening  as  the 
town  clock,  sir)  since  she  went,  except  a ten  days  ago,  and  then 
he  met  young  Mr.  Cary  at  the  door,  and  I heard  him  ask  Mr. 
Cary  when  you  would  be  home,  sir.” 

“ Put  on  my  boots  again.  I’ll  go  and  see  him.” 

“ Bless  you,  sir  ! What,  without  your  sack  ?” 

“Drink  it  yourself,  man.” 

“But  you  wouldn’t  go  out  again  this  time  o’  night  on  an 
empty  stomach,  now  ?” 

“ Fill  my  men’s  stomachs  for  them,  and  never  mind  mine. 
It’s  market-day,  is  it  not  ? Send  out,  and  see  whether  Mr. 
Cary  is  still  in  town;”  and  Amyas  strode  out,  and  along  the 
quay  to  Bridgeland  Street,  and  knocked  at  Mr.  Salterne’s 
door. 

Salterne  himself  opened  it,  with  his  usual  stern  courtesy. 

“ I saw  you  coming  up  the  street,  sir.  I have  been  expect- 
ing this  honour  from  you  for  some  time  past.  I dreamt  of'  you 
only  last  night,  and  many  a night  before  that  too.  Welcome, 
sir,  into  a lonely  house.  I trust  the  good  knight  your  general 
is  well.” 

“ The  good  knight  my  general  is  with  God  who  made  him, 
Mr.  Salterne.” 

“Dead,  sir1?” 

“ Foundered  at  sea  on  our  way  home ; and  the  Delight  lost 
too.” 

“ Humph  !”  growled  Salterne,  after  a minute’s  silence.  “ I 
had  a venture  in  her.  I suppose  it’s  gone.  No  matter — I can 
afFord  it,  sir,  and  more,  I trust.  And  he  was  three  years 
younger  than  I ! And  Draper  Heard  was  buried  yesterday,  five 
years  younger. — How  is  it  that  every  one  can  die,  except  me  ? 
Come  in,  sir,  come  in  ; I have  forgotten  my  manners.” 

And  he  led  Amyas  into  his  parlour,  and  called  to  the  ap- 
prentices to  run  one  way,  and  to  the  cook  to  run  another. 

“You  must  not  trouble  yourself  to  get  me  supper,  indeed.” 

“ I must  though,  sir,  and  the  best  of  wine  too ; and  old 
Salterne  had  a good  tap  of  Alicant  in  old  time,  old  time,  old 


284 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xiv. 

time,  sir  ! and  you  must  drink  it  now,  whether  he  does  or  not !” 
and  out  he  bustled. 

Amyas  sat  still,  wondering  what  was  coming  next,  and 
puzzled  at  the  sudden  hilarity  of  the  man,  as  well  as  his  hospi- 
tality, so  different  from  what  the  innkeeper  had  led  him  to 
expect. 

In  a minute  more  one  of  the  apprentices  came  in  to  lay  the 
cloth,  and  Amyas  questioned  him  about  his  master. 

“ Thank  the  Lord  that  you  are  come,  sir,”  said  the  lad. 

“Why,  then?” 

“ Because  there’ll  be  a chance  of  us  poor  fellows  getting  a 
little  broken  meat.  We’m  half-starved  this  three  months — 
bread  and  dripping,  bread  and  dripping,  oh  dear,  sir  ! And  now 
he’s  sent  out  to  the  inn  for  chickens,  and  game,  and  salads,  and 
all  that  money  can  buy,  and  down  in  the  cellar  haling  out  the 
best  of  wine.” — And  the  lad  smacked  his  lips  audibly  at  the 
thought. 

“ Is  he  out  of  his  mind  ?” 

“ I can’t  tell ; he  saith  as  how  he  must  save  mun’s  money 
now-a-days  ; for  he’ve  a got  a great  venture  on  hand  : but  what  a 
be  he  tell’th  no  man.  They  call’th  mun  ‘bread  and  dripping’  now, 
sir,  all  town  over,”  said  the  prentice,  confidentially,  to  Amyas. 

“ They  do,  do  they,  sirrah  ! Then  they  will  call  me  bread 
and  no  dripping  to-morrow!”  and  old  Salterne,  entering  from 
behind,  made  a dash  at  the  poor  fellow’s  ears : but  luckily 
thought  better  of  it,  having  a couple  of  bottles  in  each  hand. 

“My  dear  sir,”  said  Amyas,  “you  don’t  mean  us  to  drink 
all  that  wine?” 

“ Why  not,  sir  ?”  answered  Salterne,  in  a grim,  half-sneering 
tone,  thrusting  out  his  square-grizzled  beard  and  chin.  “ Why 
not,  sir  ? why  should  I not  make  merry  when  I have  the  honour 
of  a noble  captain  in  my  house  ? one  who  has  sailed  the  seas, 
sir,  and  cut  Spaniards’  throats ; and  may  cut  them  again  too ; 
eh,  sir  ? Boy,  where’s  the  kettle  and  the  sugar  ?” 

“What  on  earth  is  the  man  at?”  quoth  Amyas  to  himself 
— “flattering  me,  or  laughing  at  me?” 

“Yes,”  he  ran  on,  half  to  himself,  in  a deliberate  tone, 
evidently  intending  to  hint  more  than  he  said,  as  he  began 
brewing  the  sack — in  plain  English,  hot  negus ; “Yes,  bread 
and  dripping  for  those  who  can’t  fight  Spaniards ; but  the  best 
that  money  can  buy  for  those  who  can.  I heard  of  you  at 

Smerwick,  sir Yes,  bread  and  dripping  for  me  too — I can’t 

fight  Spaniards  : but  for  such  as  you.  Look  here,  sir ; I should 


285 


CHAP.  XIV.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

like  to  feed  a crew  of  such  up,  as  you’d  feed  a main  of  fighting- 
cocks,  and  then  start  them  with  a pair  of  Sheffield  spurs  a-piece 
— you’ve  a good  one  there  to  your  side,  sir  : but  don’t  you  think 
a man  might  carry  two  now,  and  fight  as  they  say  those  Chineses 
do,  a sword  to  each  hand?  You  could  kill  more  that  way, 
Captain  Leigh,  I reckon?” 

Amy  as  half  laughed. 

“ One  will  do,  Mr.  Salterne,  if  one  is  quick  enough  with  it.” 
“ Humph  ! — Ah — No  use  being  in  a hurry.  I haven’t  been 
in  a hurry.  No — I waited  for  you;  and  here  you  are  and 

welcome,  sir  ! Here  comes  supper  : a light  matter,  sir,  you  see. 
A capon  and  a brace  of  partridges.  I had  no  time  to  feast  you 
as  you  deserve.” 

And  so  he  ran  on  all  supper-time,  hardly  allowing  Amyas  to 
get  a word  in  edge-ways  : but  heaping  him  with  coarse  flattery, 
and  urging  him  to  drink,  till  after  the  cloth  was  drawn,  and 
the  two  left  alone,  he  grew  so  outrageous  that  Amyas  was  forced 
to  take  him  to  task  good-humouredly. 

“ Now,  my  dear  sir,  you  have  feasted  me  royally,  and  better 
far  than  I deserve  : but  why  will  you  go  about  to  make  me 
drunk  twice  over,  first  with  vainglory  and  then  with  wine  ?” 
Salterne  looked  at  him  a while  fixedly,  and  then,  sticking 
out  his  chin — “ Because,  Captain  Leigh,  I am  a man  who  has 
all  his  life  tried  the  crooked  road  first,  and  found  the  straight 
one  the  safer  after  all.” 

<f  Eh,  sir  ? That  is  a strange  speech  for  one  who  bears  the 
character  of  the  most  upright  man  in  Bideford.” 

“ Humph.  So  I thought  myself  once,  sir  ; and  well  I have 
proved  it.  But  I’ll  be  plain  with  you,  sir.  You’ve  heard  how 
— how  I’ve  fared  since  you  saw  me  last?” 

Amyas  nodded  his  head. 

“I  thought  so.  Shame  rides  post.  Now  then,  Captain 
Leigh,  listen  to  me.  I,  being  a plain  man  and  a burgher,  and 
one  that  never  drew  iron  in  my  life  except  to  mend  a pen,  ask 
you,  being  a gentleman  and  a captain  and  a man  of  honour, 
with  a weapon  to  your  side,  and  harness  to  your  back — what 
would  you  do  in  my  place  ?” 

“Humph!”  said  Amyas,  “that  would  very  much  depend 
on  whether  ‘ my  place  ’ was  my  own  fault  or  not.” 

“ And  what  if  it  were,  sir  ? What  if  all  that  the  charitable 
folks  of  Bideford  — (Heaven  reward  them  for  their  tender 
mercies  !) — have  been  telling  you  in  the  last  hour  be  true,  sir, 
— true  ! and  yet  not  half  the  truth  ?” 


286 


HOW  SALVATION  YEO 


[chap.  xiv. 


Amyas  gave  a start. 

“Ah,  you  shrink  from  me  ! Of  course  a man  is  too  right- 
eous to  forgive  those  who  repent,  though  God  is  not.” 

“ God  knows,  sir ” 

“Yes,  sir,  God  does  know — all ; and  you  shall  know  a little 
— as  much  as  I can  tell — or  you  understand.  Come  upstairs 
with  me,  sir,  as  you’ll  drink  no  more ; I have  a liking  for  you. 
I have  watched  you  from  your  boyhood,  and  I can  trust  you,  and 
I’ll  show  you  what  I never  showed  to  mortal  man  but  one.” 

And,  taking  up  a candle,  he  led  the  way  upstairs,  while 
Amyas  followed  wondering. 

He  stopped  at  a door,  and  unlocked  it. 

“ There,  come  in.  (Those  shutters  have  not  been  opened 
since  she ” and  the  old  man  was  silent. 

Amyas  looked  round  the  room.  It  was  a low  wainscoted 
room,  such  as  one  sees  in  old  houses  : everything  was  in  the 
most  perfect  neatness.  The  snow-white  sheets  on  the  bed  were 
turned  down  as  if  ready  for  an  occupant.  There  were  books 
arranged  on  the  shelves,  fresh  flowers  on  the  table ; the  dress- 
ing-table had  all  its  woman’s  mundus  of  pins,  and  rings,  and 
brushes ; even  the  dressing-gown  lay  over  the  chair-back. 
Everything  was  evidently  just  as  it  had  been  left. 

“ This  was  her  room,  sir,”  whispered  the  old  man. 

Amyas  nodded  silently,  and  half  drew  back. 

“ You  need  not  be  modest  about  entering  it  now,  sir,”  whis- 
pered he,  with  a sort  of  sneer.  “ There  has  been  no  frail  flesh 
and  blood  in  it  for  many  a day.” 

Amyas  sighed. 

“ I sweep  it  out  myself  every  morning,  and  keep  all  tidy. 
See  here  !”  and  he  pulled  open  a drawer.  “ Here  are  all  her 
gowns,  and  there  are  her  hoods ; and  there — I know  ’em  all  by 
heart  now,  and  the  place  of  every  one.  And  there,  sir ” 

And  he  opened  a cupboard,  where  lay  in  rows  all  Hose’s 
dolls,  and  the  worn-out  playthings  of  her  childhood. 

“ That’s  the  pleasantest  place  of  all  in  the  room  to  me,”  said 
he,  whispering  still:  “for  it  minds  me  of  when — and  maybe, 
she  may  become  a little  child  once  more,  sir ; it’s  written  in  the 
Scripture,  you  know ” 

“Amen !”  said  Amyas,  who  felt,  to  his  own  wonder,  a big 
tear  stealing  down  each  cheek. 

“ And  now,”  he  whispered,  “ one  thing  more.  Look  here  ! ” 
— and  pulling  out  a key,  he  unlocked  a chest,  and  lifted  up  tray 
after  tray  of  necklaces  and  jewels,  furs,  lawns,  cloth  of  gold. 


287 


CHAP,  xiv.]  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS. 

“ Look  there  ! Two  thousand  pound  won’t  buy  that  chest. 
Twenty  years  have  I been  getting  those  things  together.  That’s 
the  cream  of  many  a Levant  voyage,  and  East  Indian  voyage, 
and  West  Indian  voyage.  My  Lady  Bath  can’t  match  those 
pearls  in  her  grand  house  at  Tawstock;  I got  ’em  from  a 
Genoese,  though,  and  paid  for  ’em.  Look  at  that  embroidered 
lawn ! There’s  not  such  a piece  in  London ; no,  nor  in  Alex- 
andria, I’ll  warrant ; nor  short  of  Calicut,  where  it  came  from. 

. . Look  here  again,  there’s  a golden  cup ! I bought  that  of 
one  that  was  out  with  Pizarro  in  Peru.  And  look  here,  again  !” 
— and  the  old  man  gloated  over  the  treasure. 

“ And  whom  do  you  think  I kept  all  these  for  1 These  were 
for  her  wedding-day — for  her  wedding-day.  For  your  wedding- 
day,  if  you’d  been  minded,  sir  ! Yes,  yours,  sir  ! And  yet,  I 
believe,  I was  so  ambitious  that  I would  not  have  let  her  marry 
under  an  earl,  all  the  while  I was  pretending  to  be  too  proud  to 
throw  her  at  the  head  of  a squire’s  son.  Ah  well ! There  was 
my  idol,  sir.  I made  her  mad,  I pampered  her  up  with  gew- 
gaws and  vanity ; and  then,  because  my  idol  was  just  what  I 
had  made  her,  I turned  again  and  rent  her. 

“And  now,”  said  he,  pointing  to  the  open  chest,  “that  was 
what  I meant;  and  that”  (pointing  to  the  empty  bed)  “was 
what  God  meant.  Never  mind.  Come  downstairs  and  finish 
your  wine.  I see  you  don’t  care  about  it  all.  Why  should  you  ! 
you  are  not  her  father,  and  you  may  thank  God  you  are  not. 
Go,  and  be  merry  while  you  can,  young  sir  ! . . . And  yet, 
all  this  might  have  been  yours.  And — but  I don’t  suppose  you 
are  one  to  be  won  by  money — but  all  this  may  be  yours  still, 
and  twenty  thousand  pounds  to  boot.” 

“ I want  no  money,  sir,  but  what  I can  earn  with  my  own 
sword.” 

“ Earn  my  money,  then  !” 

“What  on  earth  do  you  want  of  me  !” 

“ To  keep  your  oath,”  said  Salterne,  clutching  his  arm,  and 
looking  up  into  his  face  with  searching  eyes. 

“ My  oath  ! How  did  you  know  that  I had  one  ?” 

“Ah  ! you  were  well  ashamed  of  it,  I suppose,  next  day  ! 
A drunken  frolic  all  about  a poor  merchant’s  daughter ! But 
there  is  nothing  hidden  that  shall  not  be  revealed,  nor  done  in 
the  closet  that  is  not  proclaimed  on  the  house-tops.” 

“ Ashamed  of  it,  sir,  I never  was : but  I have  a right  to 
ask  how  you  came  to  know  it  V* 

“ What  if  a poor  fat  squinny  rogue,  a low-born  fellow  even 


288  HOW  YEO  SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS.  [cilAr.  xiv. 

as  I am,  whom  you  had  baffled  and  made  a laughing-stock,  had 
come  to  me  in  my  loneliness  and  sworn  before  God  that  if  you 
honourable  gentlemen  would  not  keep  your  words,  he  the  clown 
would  V} 

“ John  Brimblecombe  ?” 

“And  what  if  I had  brought  him  where  I have  brought 
you,  and  shown  him  what  I have  shown  you,  and,  instead  of 
standing  as  stiff  as  any  Spaniard,  as  you  do,  he  had  thrown 
himself  on  his  knees  by  that  bedside,  and  wept  and  prayed,  sir, 
till  he  opened  my  hard  heart  for  the  first  and  last  time,  and  I 
fell  down  on  my  sinful  knees  and  wept  and  prayed  by  him  ?” 

“ I am  not  given  to  weeping,  Mr.  Salterne,”  said  Amyas ; 
“ and  as  for  praying,  I don’t  know  yet  what  I have  to  pray  for, 
on  her  account : my  business  is  to  work.  Show  me  what  I can 
'do ; and  when  you  have  done  that,  it  will  be  full  time  to  up- 
braid me  with  not  doing  it.” 

“ You  can  cut  that  fellow’s  throat.” 

“ It  will  take  a long  arm  to  reach  him.” 

“ I suppose  it  is  as  easy  to  sail  to  the  Spanish  Main  as  it 
was  to  sail  round  the  world.” 

“ My  good  sir,”  said  Amyas,  “ I have  at  this  moment  no 
more  worldly  goods  than  my  clothes  and  my  sword ; so  how  to 
sail  to  the  Spanish  Main,  I don’t  quite  see.” 

“ And  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I should  hint  to  you  of  such 
a voyage  if  I meant  you  to  be  at  the  charge  of  it  h No,  sir ; if 
you  want  two  thousand  pounds,  or  five,  to  fit  a ship,  take  it  ! 
Take  it,  sir  ! I hoarded  money  for  my  child  : and  now  I will 
spend  it  to  avenge  her.” 

Amyas  was  silent  for  a while  ; the  old  man  still  held  his  arm, 
still  looked  up  steadfastly  and  fiercely  in  his  face. 

“ Bring  me  home  that  man’s  head,  and  take  ship,  prizes — 
all ! Keep  the  gain,  sir,  and  give  me  the  revenge  !” 

“ Gain  ? Do  you  think  I need  bribing,  sir  ? What  kept 
me  silent  was  the  thought  of  my  mother  : I dare  not  go  without 
her  leave.” 

Salterne  made  a gesture  of  impatience. 

“ I dare  not,  sir;  I must  obey  my  parent,  whatever  else  I do.” 
“Humph!”  said  he.  “If  others  had  obeyed  theirs  as 

well ! — But  you  are  right,  Captain  Leigh,  right.  You  will 
prosper,  whoever  else  does  not.  Now,  sir,  good-night,  if  you 
will  let  me  be  the  first  to  say  so.  My  old  eyes  grow  heavy 
early  now-a-days.  Perhaps  it’s  old  age,  perhaps  it’s  sorrow.” 

So  Amyas  departed  to  the  inn,  and  there,  to  his  great  joy, 


CHAP.  XIY.  ] SLEW  THE  KING  OF  THE  GUBBINGS.  289 

found  Cary  waiting  for  him,  from  whom  he  learnt  details, 
which  must  be  kept  for  another  chapter,  and  which  I shall  tell, 
for  convenience’  sake,  in  my  own  words  and  not  in  his. 


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